Chronicle
by Amanda the Huntress
Summary: Herobrine was never truly evil. In the beginning, he was the creator and protector of mankind. But now an ancient evil has returned and is preparing to take down Notch and Herobrine and destroy everything. A traitor is suspected among the gods, and Herobrine finds himself in a race against time to save himself and preserve the truth. This is CHRONICLE, the lost story of Minecraft.
1. Prologue

**CHRONICLE**

**BEING THE SECOND BOOK OF THE SERIES OF**

_**A MINECRAFT TALE**_

**PREQUEL TO **

**_HUNTRESS'S TALE_**

_BOOK ONE:_

LYDIA

Prologue:

* * *

**Present Day**

_The priest stumbled across the ruins, pulling his robe a little tighter around himself as the wind picked up. There was no sign of anything living anywhere- anywhere at all. He had been traveling for hours now, picking through rubble and wreckage for something- anything- that would bring him to someone. It didn't matter who. All he needed was a survivor. _

_His foot slipped on a stone. The priest fell with a cry, tumbling down a slope he didn't see. He righted himself, flipping onto his back, but kept on sliding down and down the gravel. His feet punched through a burned-away wooden door, and he hit something bodily that stopped his fall. His backpack barely cuishined the blow and his breath fled his lungs on impact. _

_Coughing and gagging on the dust, the priest carefully rolled onto his hands and feet and painfully stood. It was too dark to see, wherever he landed. The priest used what little light that streamed through the broken door to fish a torch and a flint-and-steel from the recesses of his robe. With a few snaps on the flint, the torch was cheerfully burning and throwing a warm, yellow light about him. Stowing his tool, the priest hefted the torch and looked around, gaining his bearings. _

_He stood inside a house that was largely intact, but completely buried from the outside. He would have missed it if he hadn't fallen. The priest groaned as he pulled himself fully upright. He feared that he'd thrown something in his back when he fell, and with a slow bend backwards, something cracked and he was able to stand straight again. _

_The room around him appeared to be made of oak, which would explain why it had been able to withstand the weight of the stone and scree above. There was a bookshelf off on one wall next to a window with a writing desk below it, and a broken table and scattered chairs about the center of the room. A door on the far wall no doubt led to the rest of the house. _

_A patch of color under the table rent in two caught the priest's eye. He carefully stooped down and lifted the half of the table up, and found a green leather-bound book, open face-down with the pages bent but intact. Pushing the broken table aside, he carefully lifted the book from the ground, blowing dust off of its surface._

_Moving to the writing desk, still intact, the priest pulled the old, burnt-out torch from the bracket and replaced it with his own. He pulled the stool out from under the desk and tested it with his weight- it held sturdy. Slowly seating himself, he placed the book on the desk and peeled back the cover, scanning across the first page. He had a hunch about this. _

_His eyes caught a few words and stopped there. Quickly he fumbled for ink and quill in his pack, and drew out a few rumpled pages. He scanned the first few pages of the book again, and began to scribble down notes. _

_It was a journal of sorts, or perhaps a diary. The first few pages were in a large, exaggerated script of a child that knew how to write and was not yet confident. Later, the handwriting became smaller and less neat, obviously written much faster. The priest read and wrote late into the night, until his hands began to cramp and he had to stop for a while. _

_The priest awoke with a start. He had not realized he had dozed off and sat up from the desk, groaning and stiff. He now had several dozen pages of notes written, and had started to write carefully in his great codex journal. He gathered up his tools and notes, a deep sense of excitement rising up in him despite himself. This truly was a glorious find, after all. _

_Taking up his pack, the priest took the green-bound book and tucked it away in his robes, taking his torch out of the bracket. It had burned almost to nothing while he slept- he wondered how long it had been. _

_Picking his way back up the slope, the priest found himself blinking in the early dawn sun, just peeking over the horizon. He smiled to himself, realizing how lucky it was that none of the denizens of the night had found him. At last, he reached his donkey, hee-hawing ill-naturadely as it pulled at its lead. The priest chuckled at the impatient animal and untied the lead, heaving himself up onto the saddle and settling himself in. With more than a few firm slaps of the reigns, the donkey started plodding onwards to the east, to a place the priest had read of in the green diary._

_What a glorious find, indeed. He thought of the codex in his pack. _The Chronicle_,_ I'll call it_, he thought. A full history of the world from the beginning, starting with the creation. _

_And continuing with the wonderful account in the diary, from a woman named Lydia. A woman who had met the creators herself as a child. _

_A fabulous story, indeed. _

_The priest couldn't wait to write all of this down. He urged his donkey on to a faster pace, on towards the rising sun. _

* * *

**Years before**

Lydia flew into the door of her townhouse and slammed the door behind her, leaning her weight on it as she listened for the sounds of pursuit. The furious screams and grating cries of the Watchers were nearby, but she hoped she would have time. Chest heaving, she turned and backed away from the door, snatching her diary off of the desk by the window.

Fumbling for ink and quill, Lydia opened the book to the last blank page and began to write furiously. It had been a long time since she had written last in her diary, and she wanted it all written down. Someone would find it someday, she hoped desperately. Someone would know her story.

And the truth.

Her mind flew back to the smiling face in her childhood, one framed by long hair and dark, laughing eyes. The one her father had called a friend when no one else would, and built a shrine to on their homestead far to the south. The one, he said, that had created their kind. She thought of those empty, burning white eyes that had taken their place, the last things she had seen before her sister screamed for her to flee. She wrote of the fall of her sister's and brother-in-law's kingdom, and remembered with a stab of guilt her little nephew, Corren. She had fled before she could remember the danger the child was in.

Something hit the door, hard. Tears streaming, she looked over her shoulder and saw a Watcher's piercing lavender eyes through the glass windowpane on the door. She took the time to write one last line in her diary and slammed it shut, casting aside her quill. Turning abruptly, she curled her hand around the hilt of her slender iron blade and drew it slowly. She steadied herself for what was to come, sending one last prayer to Notch.

The Watcher's black claws gleamed through the gaps in the door frame. Lydia watched as those claws smashed through the window on the door, and grabbed a torch from the wall bracket, slamming the fire into those claws. The Watcher screeched and drew back. More claws appeared. Lydia battered them with the torch, but then one grasped her wrist. Lydia dropped the torch with a stifled scream. It rolled on the floor, smoke rising from the wood of the floor and the door. Wrenching free, Lydia backed away, settling into a battle stance.

She had nowhere to run this time.

A Watcher teleported into the room, and Lydia swung her sword.

* * *

**_Welcome, one and all to the official Prequel to Huntress's Tale. I'm making this official: Remember _****A Minecraft Tale? ****_It's being rewritten. That title is about to become a series title. Book one: Huntress's Tale. Book Two: Chronicle, and so on. How do you like this new work? This is intended to explain a lot of things I glanced over in Huntress's Tale (Or A Minecraft Tale), including the origins of the Shadow, the Fall of Herobrine, WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE HUMANS, and a whole lot of other complicated things. _**

**_Remember to review! If there is anything you would like to know about my story, or if there is something you would like to let me know about or critique, leave it in a REVIEW, and I will respond, either in PM or in the story. _**

**_Oh, this is going to be fun to write._**

**_Huntress out._**


	2. The Diary

**CHRONICLE **

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter One_, _The Diary_

* * *

**Present Day**

_The priest leaned against his barrel-chested donkey and signed, hopelessly stiff and sore from the uncomfortable ride. Massaging his aching buttocks, he walked stiffly into the clearing and slowly sank to the ground. _

_He cleared a space and lit a fire, and then went about lighting the torches in the surrounding trees. He had come here knowing he would find sanctuary for the night, but he had been surprised to find the place deserted. He hadn't heard much from his fellow Villagers, but surely those few wild rumors he had heard weren't true! Nonetheless, the walled-in haven in the forest, usually staffed by human rangers, was empty. And dusty, and looking jumbled and rummaged-through as if the last residents had left in a hurry long ago. _

_The torches lit, the priest went back to the fire pit and seated himself by the blaze, casting a baleful eye at the sinking sun. He hoped it wouldn't rain anytime soon, but he smelled a storm on the wind, and while the isolated forest sanctuary would protect him from the night-monsters, it would do little to keep him safe from exposure. Roughing it was not an option for him- he was too advanced in years. His bones ached from the ride, and no doubt his arthritis would be at it in the morning, and that's if it didn't rain. He wasn't sure what he would do if it rained. _

_Shrugging off his backpack, the priest pulled out his codex and the green diary, hoping to do a little more work before he went on. He had nearly finished writing in the first chapter, but he had to make sure he made no mistakes. Propping up the books side-by-side in his lap, the priest began to read over his work carefully. He started with the earliest history of the world, as described in the green diary. _

_The diary began with the story Lydia's father always told her._

* * *

**Years before: 248 F.E. (First Era)**

Jonas awoke to a tiny girl's big blue eyes staring intently at his. Chuckling, he pushed off his blankets and carefully sat up, making sure he didn't disturb his wife beside him.

"Oh, Lydia," he sighed. "Nightmares again?" The girl nodded. Jonas held out his arms, and helped the child climb up onto the bed and into his lap. Jonas stroked his six-year-old child's hair and hugged her close.

"It's going to be okay," Jonas soothed, still stroking his daughter's hair. Lydia was still trembling slightly in his arms. Jonas felt a swell of loving pride for his girl. Lydia hadn't shown her fear when she came in. Jonas looked down at that determined little face, now buried in his arm. He looked over at his wife, still asleep, as her swollen belly rose and fell with her breathing.

When Lydia stopped trembling, Jonas lay back down and let her climb over him to settle in the space between him and her mother. Lydia curled up against him, and in minutes was breathing slowly and evenly, fast asleep. Jonas shifted ever so slightly and closed his eyes again, putting one arm over his daughter, and the other to his wife.

He watched his wife's deep breathing as he pulled the blankets back up over himself and Lydia.

_It won't be long now,_ he thought to himself. _You're going to be a big sister, Lydia. _

The family fell asleep soon after.

* * *

The one thing Lydia enjoyed most was her father's stories. She would beg him every night until he gave in and sat down on the side of her bed, talking until she fell asleep. Her favorites were about the mysterious man he talked about from where he worked. The one that could make blocks appear out of thin air and fly up into the sky.

"I'll bring you to meet him some day," he always promised, "But first, there's more of the story to know. Do you know how I came to meet him?"

And from there he would go into the story of everything, starting with the creation.

"In the beginning, there were the brothers Notch and Herobrine." He told of how Notch had first called light out of the great darkness of the Void, and then made the World, layer by layer by layer.

"It was Notch that made the stone," he explained as Lydia watched him intently, "and Herobrine that made the ores and the caves. Notch made the sands and the grass and the skies, and all the rain and snow, and Herobrine made the animals and the trees. It was Herobrine that made us. And it is Herobrine that is still here. You see, Notch went away to work other parts of creation. He has not yet come back, but he will someday. Until then, Herobrine builds with us. Their shrines are in the Great Temple in the center of the city. I'll take you there to see it, someday."

Lydia waited expectantly until that day.

On her seventh birthday, Jonas brought something special home for her as a present. Lydia's mother, Alayne, was standing over her daughter's shoulder at the kitchen table, helping the girl hold her quill correctly and form letters. Jonas grinned broadly as he tip-toed into the room, exaggerating his movements as he snuck up on Lydia, making enough noise to get her attention before he was close enough. Lydia laughed and squealed, leaping from her chair as Jonas pantomimed fright at getting caught. He held his cloak out in front of him, making it obvious he was hiding something.

"What is it, Daddy?" Lydia giggled as she made a grab for the edge of his cloak. Jonas shook his head and danced away, still grinning and staying just out of his daughter's reach. When Lydia finally stopped the chase and stood, arms crossed over her chest stubbornly, Jonas swept his cloak aside to reveal his gift: A diary, bound in green leather with a small clasp to hold it shut. Lydia looked at him curiously.

"Happy birthday," Jonas congratulated, and then he and Lydia sat down at the table again, and he showed her that she could write anything she wanted in this diary. Lydia handled the clean white pages reverently, as if she were afraid of staining them with ink.

"What do I write?" she asked, and Jonas made a wide gesture.

"Anything you want. You can write down the stories I tell you, if you want, so you can always keep them with you."

So, for that first entry, Lydia picked up her quill, and with careful, extra-neat script, she began to write down her father's stories.

* * *

Hanna was born only a week later. Alayne was cooking in the kitchen with Lydia looking on, when she suddenly doubled over, moaning through gritted teeth. Lydia, terrified, asked what was wrong.

"Get you father," Alayne hissed, and jerked as another contraction racked her body. Lydia fled the room and pounded up the stairs, shouting her father's name as she pounded on the workshop door upstairs. Jonas swept open the door.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice worried.

"It's mommy," Lydia began. "She said to come get you." Lydia didn't know what was going on. Alayne moaned again, louder this time, from the kitchen. Lydia saw a look of terrified anticipation cross her father's eyes.

"I have to go," Jonas said breathlessly, and he took his daughter's hand and went down the stairs as fast as she could keep up. He helped his wife to stand, and helped her into the master bedroom and into bed. Then he flew out of the house and onto his horse, and Lydia and her mother listened as he clattered away. "Watch over your mother until I get back," were his parting words.

A few anxious minutes later, he reappeared with a woman Lydia had never seen before that shooed the seven-year-old and her father out of the room. The door slammed behind them.

That was when the screams began.

Lydia looked at her father, terrified.

"What's going on?" She demanded, her blue eyes wide. Jonas looked between her and the door and swept Lydia up in his arms. "Where are we going?!"

"I'm going to take you to work," Jonas answered. "It's going to be okay, Lydia." He didn't want Lydia to hear Alayne in so much pain. He was antsy enough as it was.

Jonas helped Lydia up onto his saddle- it was much too big for her- and then he mounted his horse himself. Leaving his wife to the midwife, he galloped away towards the middle of the city. Lydia held on to the saddle horn and stayed frozen against her father, quite terrified.

* * *

That day became one of the most detailed entries in her diary that Lydia had ever written. Jonas steered his horse down gravel roads that quickly turned to cobblestone that clicked instead of clatter. Lydia watched wide-eyed and awed as they came into the city and the small family houses and yards gave way to huge buildings in every color in every shape. And there were so many people! Lydia felt small and frightened with so many strange people around.

Jonas turned his horse down off the main thoroughfare and onto a side street that went behind several high earthen embankments. Lydia drew close to her father again, reaching up to grasp her father's arms around her from where she sat in front of him on the saddle. Her father sighed and let his horse slow to a trot, so Lydia would be more comfortable. A few yards later, they were off of the trail and out from between the high walls, up in the open again. The father and daughter were surrounded by dozens of people milling about, working with tools and moving blocks in sledges and lifting them on ropes and pulleys. Jonas pulled his horse to a halt.

"Hark there, Jonas!" Someone with a light mountain accent called. Lydia looked around for the source of the sound.

"Morning, Drayda," Lydia's father called back as he slid off the saddle and reached up to lift Lydia. A dark-eyed woman approached the pair from where she had been discussing something with several others gathered around a workbench.

"How's Alayne?" Drayda asked, stopping just in front of Jonas. She was taller than him by several fingerbredths. "Last I checked she was near due. I thought you took leave for that." Jonas looked at Drayda with a nervous expression.

"She's ah...it's happening now. The, uh..." Jonas stuttered, and Drayda threw back her head and laughed.

"And the midwife threw you out! For a good reason, too. Now who- Oh, Lydia! Wonderful to see you again!" Drayda bent down so that she was at Lydia's height and gave her a hug. "Scared about mommy?" Lydia nodded. Drayda grinned. "It'll be all right, don't you doubt. Your mother is a very strong and healthy woman. There won't be a problem." Lydia looked between Drayda and Jonas, confused. She didn't know what was going on. At seven, it hadn't yet been explained to her where babies came from.

"I hope not," Jonas muttered in a much less cheerful tone. Drayda put her hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, man, lighten up. It's a baby, not a bushfire. Besides," She added, with a meaningful glance at Lydia, "You're frightening your young one here." Jonas glanced at Lydia's face and closed his eyes, turning away. When he turned back, he was smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I can't help it. Can you do me a favor and show Lydia around? I promised her, but I... I'm not sure I can." Jonas's voice was strained. Drayda nodded knowingly.

"I'll give her a tour. You go get yourself a drink and see what you can do about the southeast corner on the foundation. It's too swampy there and the stones we lay keep sliding. Just get your mind off of this, because I know Rebecca's not going to let you back in until she sends for you herself. The old sourpuss." She and Jonas chuckled and parted. Drayda took Lydia's hand and guided her across the big open space to a huge half-finished structure.

Lydia knew Drayda as one of her "aunties", a close friend of her parents. She and Alayne had been rangers together for a time, until Drayda injured her leg with a bad fall. When Drayda couldn't go back to patrolling, she took to engineering on the advice of one of her brothers. Now she was one of her father's coworkers. Drayda still had a small limp, but she could walk again, at least. She was a tough woman, and both Lydia's parents trusted her with nearly anything.

"Want to see what your father's been building this past year?" Drayda asked, and Lydia looked up at her with anticipation.

"Yes, please!" She answered excitedly. Drayda smiled and led the seven-year-old into the construction site.

"You don't need to worry about things falling in this part," The tall woman explained. "The walls and the arches in the main structure are finished. All we have to do is add the rest of the covering."

"What does that mean?" Lydia asked, looking up at the empty space above, framed by high cross-arches and the tops of the wall.

"It means something like this: When you build something like this, you have to start with the base and the frame. The base, or the foundation, is what everything sits on. The frame is what holds everything up. It's what everything else is built on. In this case, that would be the pillars," Drayda pointed to the huge stone pylons that flanked them, "and the arches." She pointed above their heads. Lydia thought she understood.

"So this is our head architect's daughter?"

Drayda and Lydia both turned to see a man walking up to them from the entrance end of the unfinished hall. He was a lean but well-built man with dark eyes and dark hair that grew to his jaw. He wore a black shirt and blue pants, much like any other worker on the site. But despite is unassuming appearance, Lydia felt that there was something about this man. Something that was different than everyone else.

"Lord Herobrine," Drayda addressed the man in a friendly tone. Lydia blinked. Her father had talked about someone named Herobrine. Wasn't he the one that...

"Lady Drayda," Herobrine responded in kind, stopping and crossing his arms over his chest. There was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Drayda snorted.

"I'm an ex-ranger, not a lady," Drayda protested, and Herobrine laughed- a light sound that made Lydia want to laugh with him. He raised one eyebrow.

"Formality to formality, old friend," Herobrine said, uncrossing his arms. "Call me Lord and I call you Lady. I'm only your creator god, after all. No need for titles."

Drayda and Herobrine both laughed as though this was some old mutual joke. Lydia looked between the two, confused. She wasn't sure what to think. Jonas had told Lydia that Herobrine was indeed a creator god, and very kind, but she didn't imagine this was what he was actually like.

"Lydia, is it?" Herobrine asked, kneeling down to Lydia's height. Lydia gasped and quickly hid behind Drayda's leg. She trusted Drayda, but strangers made her nervous. Herobrine looked down and shook his head, chuckling. "Come on out. I won't bite." With Drayda's encouragement, Lydia slowly came forward. "That's it. Come out where I can see you, child."

"Did your father tell you about me?" Herobrine asked in a soft, soothing tone. Lydia nodded shyly. Herobrine smirked. "I hope he didn't say anything embarrassing," he added, looking up at Drayda. Lydia was silent. She didn't know how to respond.

"Here. Let me show you what it is your daddy does." Herobrine took Lydia's cautious hand and led her to the far end of the hall, telling her all about the things Jonas did to help build it. Lydia began to relax, feeling safe around the powerful man. It wasn't long before she was pulling on Herobrine's shirt and reaching up with her little hands, a clear gesture to be picked up. Herobrine smiled warmly and swept the girl up in onto his shoulders, letting Lydia look around the hall from his height. Lydia giggled with delight.

Some time later, Jonas appeared at the entrance to the hall, hair mussed and dusty and out of breath.

"Lydia!"

His call got everyone's attention. Lydia, Drayda, and Herobrine all looked up, and Herobrine instantly knew what was going on. He bent down to whisper in Lydia's ear.

"You might want to hurry. Something exciting has happened." Lydia nodded, and she ran across the tiled floor to where her father waited. Without waiting for Lydia to ask what was going on, Jonas picked Lydia up and rushed across the construction site to where his horse was tied. Lydia was pushed up onto the saddle and Jonas leaped up behind her, and they went galloping away, down the streets without stopping until they were home.

Lydia wondered if she had done anything wrong. Jonas was unusually quiet, and he was tense on the saddle.

The strange woman was standing at the door with her hands on her hips.

"About time," Rebecca the midwife grumbled. "Get on inside. Alayne's been waiting for you."

"How is she?" Jonas asked breathlessly. Rebecca sniffed.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. She's just fine, and the babe too. Now in with you! She's been working hard for the past six hours, and looks pretty good for it. Stop your worrying, she's fine!" When Jonas didn't move, the midwife grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him in the door. Jonas shook himself once he was past the door frame. Freeing himself from the ruthless midwife, he rushed past and into the house, bursting through the door to the master bedroom.

A joyous shout followed.

"Lydia!" He called, sticking his head out the door. "Lydia, come here!" Jonas was ecstatic. Scooting around the midwife, Lydia hurried after her father.

Alayne was in bed with the covers pulled up to her chest. Sweat soaked her hair and the sheets around her, and there was a basin of cold water and a damp rag sitting on the side table. An open bag with its contents spilling out was sitting in the corner. The midwife breezed in and looked around, then gave a grunt of satisfaction. She gathered up the bag and went up to Jonas, her hand extended expectantly.

"Everything went well, so no extra charges," she said shortly. Jonas fumbled in his pocket, and drew out a few bright emeralds, pressing them into the midwife's open palm. She nodded, and left the room without another word.

"Lydia," Alayne called softly, and Lydia came to the edge of the bed. Alayne struggled to sit up- Jonas quickly moved to help her and stack the pillows behind her. Alayne held something in her arms- Lydia didn't know what it was. It was something bundled up in cloths.

"This is Hanna. She's your little sister, Lydia. You're a big sister now." Alayne moved so that Lydia could see what she was holding. She recoiled in surprise when a small red fist extended towards her face. A thin wail emitted from the bundle. Lydia's mother quickly drew the child close to her chest and rocked, cooing and humming. The wail became more urgent, and the little fists fought free of the wrappings to wave in the air. Lydia pulled closer to get a better look. This was her little sister?

Big brown eyes stared back, and Hanna gave a delighted squeal, wrapping her hands into Lydia's loose hair.

That night, Lydia was sitting up in bed, balancing her diary on her knees as she tried to remember everything she had seen that day. Especially Herobrine. She even added a tiny doodle in the margin of one page, but she couldn't seem to get his face right. When she finally finished, she left the book open on the floor under the bed for the ink to dry and crawled under her covers, exhausted.

She dreamed of Herobrine like he was told in her father's stories that night, with those dark eyes full of joy.


	3. Riot

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter Two, Riot_

* * *

When Hanna was born, Jonas had a very important conversation with Herobrine that he didn't tell Lydia about until years after. Herobrine called him aside at his workplace one day just as the sun was beginning to set and everyone was going home.

"You know that the dissent is only getting worse," Herobrine began, and Jonas nodded cautiously. His wife had told him about the bands of bandits and the rogue nations that were rising up outside the great cities.

"I want to tell you now while there is still time that my brother and I have had a plan to deal with this for some time. I haven't wanted to use it, but...I'm beginning to think that I have no choice. Jonas swallowed.

"What is this... plan?" he asked. Herobrine grinned mirthlessly and looked away, gazing over the unfinished hall.

"I understand your anxiety, old friend," Herobrine said. "You have a newborn child, after all, and a wife with a dangerous occupation. More so these days." Herobrine turned to face Jonas. "The rogues are killing people, Jonas. Each other, and people within my cities and places where my shrines are put up. They are evil, and they must be punished." He turned away again. "I just don't want to do it until I must."

"What are you going to do?" Jonas asked, moving closer to Herobrine. Herobrine looked over his shoulder.

"I cannot tell you yet, but I swear to you, you and your family will be safe. For as long as you remain loyal to the ways of goodness, no harm will come to you by my doing. I must let my people know that evil cannot go unpunished. That is all."

Jonas bowed and turned to leave.

"Take care, Jonas," Herobrine called as he left.

* * *

Hanna grew quickly over the next few years. She was what they would call a very happy baby, always giggling and bouncing and moving around until she, at last, wore herself out and fell asleep wherever she ended up. Alayne would then pick her up and carry her to the crib in the master bedroom, staying by it and rocking it while singing a soft lullaby. Lydia would listen from the doorway.

Alayne had a low, husky voice that had a crackling undertone, as one who had shouted too much in her lifetime. But when she sang, Lydia thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. When she sang, her voice was smooth and breathy, like a whispered secret. When Hanna finally stopped waking up and wailing whenever Alayne turned away, Lydia's mother would at last stand up and see Lydia standing there, watching her with those big blue eyes, and smile.

When Hanna could stand and walk around on her own, she became much quieter and more watchful. She would especially watch Lydia, and try to imitate the way her big sister did things. When Lydia sat down in a chair at the kitchen table to write in her green diary, Hanna would go up to a chair and try to pull herself into it and sit the same way. Her first word was "up", when she was calling for Lydia to pick her up and put her in the chair.

From that day on, Hanna never left Lydia's side, not for one moment. Alayne decided it was time to let Hanna move into Lydia's room, and Jonas built a bed for her to put right next to Lydia's. It was put in place on Lydia's ninth birthday.

Lydia, of course, wrote it all down in her diary.

For a time, Hanna would watch Lydia with her dark, curious eyes and ask her what she was doing with the green leather-bound book. Lydia smiled.

"It's my diary," she explained. Hanna didn't understand. "I write things in it that I want to remember. I have some stories in here- do you want me to tell them to you?" That got Hanna's attention and instant approval.

Later, Jonas walked by the girl's room and stopped at the closed door when he heard Lydia's voice. It took him a moment to realize that she was telling her little sister the very bedtime stories that he had told her when she was younger. His heart swelled with emotion, and he smiled broadly, continuing on his way as quietly as he could.

* * *

Little Hanna was four when she made up her mind to meet Herobrine.

Jonas had taken some convincing before he finally consented. Hanna had come to him day after day, begging him to let her meet the mysterious man at his workplace that Lydia had told her about. Jonas, thinking of things that his girls didn't know about, refused, but it got harder each time. At last, he called Lydia down to speak with him. Lydia was eleven at the time.

"Lydia, honey, how much have you been telling Hanna?" Jonas asked as he sat Lydia down at the table. Lydia looked up at him with an expression of confusion.

"I've just been telling her the stories," she answered, and Jonas shook his head and sat down, running his hands through his sandy-colored hair. "And about that time you took me to work," she amended.

"Listen," he began, "I need you to know that things right now aren't the same as they were when I took you. I can't take someone Hanna's age to the site. It just isn't safe."

"I could come with her," Lydia protested. "I'll watch out for her, I promise!" Jonas realized what his daughter meant.

"You wanted to see him again, too," he said, and Lydia slowly nodded, looking abashed and glancing away.

"Look at me," Jonas ordered, and Lydia complied. "I love you. I just want to keep you and your sister safe. It's okay to want to see him again. Lord Herobrine is a good man, and a gracious god. But there are other people that live in that part of the city that are very bad people. They want to destroy what Herobrine is doing for us, and they don't like those of us that support him. I'm worried that they might hurt you." Lydia opened her mouth to protest.

"No, Lydia. I can't have any arguments. I won't take you and Hanna to come with me because it isn't safe. I could never, ever forgive myself if anything ever happened to either of you. Please, Lydia, try to understand." The girl's slender shoulders slumped. "Do you understand?"

"I understand," Lydia answered glumly, and she got up from the table and went back up the stairs to her room to tell Hanna.

But Alayne heard the entire conversation.

"Darling, you don't have to take them on site. I can arrange something." Alayne offered. Jonas looked up.

"What do you mean? You can't possibly-"

"Jonas, there's always the break day. No one will be on site, and Lord Herobrine will have no reason to be there. I've talked to him. He's willing to come to the gardens for a day to meet the girls."

Jonas's eyes widened, and he shook his head and laughed.

"I knew there was a reason I married you," he said as he stood up from the table. "When did you speak with him, exactly?"

"As a ranger of the city of Luminara, I often have guard duty at the south end of the King's Hall construction site." Alayne said in a mock-pompous tone. "I had the honor of speaking to him when he was taking a stroll by the wall. I've been listening to Hanna begging this long- when else will she get the chance?" Jonas stepped closer to Alayne and caressed her face.

"Thank you," Jonas said meaningfully, and kissed his wife.

* * *

It was a beautiful day when the entire house packed up a picnic meal and traveled to the gardens. Lydia rode with her father, riding behind him this time instead of in front on the great chestnut horse. Hanna rode with Alayne on her sleek white mare, in front of her mother holding tight to the saddle horn. Lydia turned to watch them every so often where they rode behind her and her father, and Hanna would silently stare back at her with her dark eyes full of terror. She had never ridden a horse before then.

Neither of the girls knew what was really planned for that day until they stopped at the green at the center of the gardens and tied the horses to the post. Herobrine appeared from behind a tree, and Lydia and Hanna immediately took off running for him. Herobrine pantomimed surprise at seeing them and roared with laughter as the two girls attacked, letting them drag him to the ground.

Alayne was there in an instant, but she didn't move to rescue Herobrine from her daughters. Jonas finished tying the horses' leads before coming, guffawing at the scene. Eventually, Lydia let up and stood, backing away from the immortal. Hanna rolled off long enough to let Herobrine stand, and then immediately reached up, hopping up and down.

"Up!" she squealed, and Herobrine looked between the four-year-old and her father. Jonas shrugged, motioning for him to go ahead. Herobrine grasped Hanna below the shoulders and lifted her up in the air, swinging her around as she laughed aloud with delight. After a few spins, he set Hanna back on her feet and examined her closely.

"You must be Hanna," Herobrine said, holding her tiny hand in his. "You have your mother's eyes. How old are you now?"

"Four!" Hanna said excitedly, accidentally holding up three fingers. Herobrine grinned.

"I don't think that's enough fingers there," he said, and Hanna looked at her hand in embarrassment. Blushing, she fiddled with her hand for a moment and held up four fingers. "There you go." Lifting the child again, he deposited her into Alayne's waiting arms.

"And I remember you," he said, addressing Lydia. "It's been a long while, Lydia. You've grown."

"Thank you," Lydia said, still slightly shy.

Herobrine joined the family for the picnic that day, sitting cross-legged between the two daughters of Jonas. When Alayne reprimanded Lydia for chewing with her mouth open, Herobrine slouched and said "Yes, mother," submissively as if she were speaking to him. Both the girls exploded into laughter. Alayne was not amused. She fearlessly gave Herobrine a withering glare.

"Don't you dare give them any bad ideas," she warned, and Herobrine nodded gracefully, glancing at the girls.

After they ate lunch that day, Alayne and Jonas let their daughters run around and play with Herobrine for several hours into the afternoon, until both of them were thoroughly worn out and ready to go home. Hannah fell asleep in Herobrine's arms, and Lydia slumped against her father.

"Bedtime," Herobrine said in a singsong voice, giving Alayne a knowing smile as he passed the child up to her mother seated on her white mare. Alayne returned the smile as she secured her daughter on the saddle.

But just as Lydia was carefully mounting behind her father, a ruckus broke out from behind the tree line in the garden. Jonas's horse pranced several steps, knocking Lydia off of her tentative foothold in the stirrup. She fell to the ground with a short scream, rolling away from the horse's hooves. Jonas looked at the figures coming from the trees in terror, glancing back at his wife and children.

"Is this...?" Jonas didn't finish his question. An arrow flew out of the woods, coming towards his horse. Herobrine leaped into the arrow's path and stopped it with a blast of fire, turning it to a puff of dust. Then he whirled around and helped Lydia to her feet, and pushed her up onto the horse behind her father without missing a beat.

"Get out of here!" Herobrine shouted. Then he turned to face the oncoming people. "It's turning out worse than I thought," he muttered under his breath.

Jonas and Alayne exchanged glances and slapped the reigns on their steeds. They galloped away without glancing back, trusting Herobrine.

"What's going on?" Lydia asked, clinging to her father fearfully. Jonas did not answer. They rode hard until they reached the house, and Jonas immediately dismounted to help Lydia down, then leaped up again and rode back the way he came. "Where are you going?" Lydia screamed.

Alayne wrapped one strong hand around her elder daughter's arm and hauled her inside, carrying her other child in the other arm. Once safely inside, she shut the door and locked it, bracing it with a chair. Lydia continued to ask what was happening.

"Quiet!" Alayne snapped, and Lydia fell silent in shock. Sighing, Alayne turned around and knelt before her daughter, hugging her close.

"It's going to be okay," she said, trying to convince herself as well. "Jonas went back because some of those people were from his workplace. He thought he could help. He'll be back soon." She sent Lydia up to her room, and then pulled up a chair by the fireplace and sat down herself. There was an icy feeling growing in her belly.

She gripped her hands together before her face and silently waited for her husband to come home.

* * *

Someone pounded on the front door.

Alayne leaped to her feet, snatching up her sword from where it leaned on the side of the fireplace.

"Let us in!" Herobrine shouted through the door. "Jonas is hurt!"

Alayne flew to the door and threw the chair away, fumbling with the lock. As soon as the bolt slid back, the door swung open and Herobrine hurried in, shutting the door behind him. Jonas had one arm thrown across the immortal's shoulders, and was leaning on him heavily. Herobrine had a long tear at the hem of his shirt, but didn't show any injuries. Jonas, on the other hand, had a bright weal forming under one eye, and he was limping as he stumbled along with Herobrine. Alayne narrowed her eyes.

Lydia came rushing down the stairs when she heard the noise.

"Daddy!" She exclaimed when she saw her father. Jonas tried to stand on his own and sagged again with a groan.

"Lydia," Alayne said, "Come help your father to the kitchen." Lydia quickly came to Jonas's side and helped him stand up and hobble into the next room. Herobrine and Alayne regarded each other coolly.

"What happened?" Alayne asked stiffly. Herobrine glanced behind him through the window on the door.

"A riot broke out outside my shrine. Jonas was knocked off of his horse, but he's just winded. He'll be all right in a few hours. It was over what began last night. There were people who did not approve." Herobrine explained. Alayne gasped.

"You mean the monsters?" she asked, aghast, and Herobrine nodded. "Those were your doing?" He nodded again.

"As I told your husband," Herobrine began, "You and your family will be safe from them. They cannot harm you. They are there as a guard against evil- but judging from the response," He looked out the window meaningfully, "The problem runs much deeper than I anticipated."

"What should we do?" Alayne snapped. "A riot in Luminara! We can't stay here when so many people hate you for what you've done!" Herobrine shook his head.

"No," he agreed, "You cannot. You must take your family out of the city. You came from the highlands in the south- I trust you have family or property there, still?"

"I do," Alayne answered. Herobrine smiled, giving a sigh of relief.

"Excellent. I am sending Drayda and her brothers with you. Now-" Herobrine turned away as the noise outside crescendoed suddenly. "I have matters I must attend to. You must hurry." At that, he threw open the door and strode out, mounting a huge black charger and turning to gallop down the street. Alayne watched him as he rode towards the forming crowd. Then she slammed the door and called Hanna from her room.

The family hurried to pack in the moments that followed. Lydia paused as she picked up her green diary. Lightly kissing the cover, she slipped it into her pack with her clothes.

Drayda appeared at the door just as Lydia was closing the clasp.

"It's time to go, girls," she said grimly. "Before the mob burns the house."


	4. Plotting

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter three: Plotting_

* * *

**Present Day**

_The priest had stopped writing hours ago. He had meant to polish up the notes he had taken earlier, but now that he was reading the diary in detail, he couldn't help but to be drawn in by it. There was a broad gap in time between entries as he went on, as though Lydia had lost interest for a time after she turned eight. Then they came back in full force when Lydia was eleven. _

_The priest saw something that startled him before- he had marked the page for reference and was going back to it now. It was something that twelve-year old Lydia had written down that suggested something incredible. At first, she just called it 'that night'. It was something that she wrote down in detail apparently some time after it had happened. Something she didn't know about until she was much older. The priest read the handwritten words over and over, making sure he was absolutely certain before making any conclusions. _

_Lydia and her family fled the city as Herobrine faced down crowds of angry people in the golden city- what was it called?- Luminara. That was 'city of light' in an old tongue. That implied several things- first of all, Herobrine was not completely evil. Not in the way some people thought. The priest thought back to the rumors that had spread from the East out of the desert- the ones that began with a very old Son of Steve, possibly the last one alive. What was his name? The priest couldn't remember. _

_Someone was knocking on the door to his room in the inn. The priest shut the diary in annoyance. _

_"Yes?" he called, and a young white-robed man walked in. One of the apprentices in the town. "What is it?" The priest tried not to be too prickly after being disturbed. _

_"I have the reports you sent for," he said, withdrawing a roll of papers from his sleeve and handing them to the priest. The priest thanked the young man, and sent him away again. _

_"Can you tell anyone else that I need to be left alone for a while? Perhaps a 'do not disturb' sign on the door? I need time to focus." the priest asked. _

_"I'll see what I can do," the man answered, and left, shutting the door behind him. The priest took a look at the roll of pages he now held in one hand. _

_These were several accounts from various kingdoms in the domain of the Sons of Steve. Few were actually written by the Steves themselves- few survived long enough to tell their tales. The priest leafed through the reports and then threw them down on the desk in exasperation. All of them said the same thing, over and over with few real answers. Then he stopped for a moment. One of the reports..._

_He picked it up again. It was marked 'Fall of Arrenvale'. The name on the signature was one that he knew he recognized, he just couldn't remember where. He checked the diary, in the back near the last pages. Yes, that was the name. Corren. This report was written by a Steve- the nephew of this very Lydia, in fact. There was no mistaking it- all the facts matched when he checked. _

_The priest decided to take another look at the places in the diary. He looked at the date on the report- 339. It was written this year. Maybe he would be able to meet Corren in person. That would help things, surely. _

_The priest made careful note of the locations of his destinations, and then packed up his things. His donkey awaited him outside. Scrambling up onto the saddle, the priest made for Lydia's homestead in the mountains. _

_Perhaps he could sort out exactly what happened in the tragedy fifty years ago._

* * *

**Year 252 F.E. (First Era)  
**

There are some things that were never recorded in the green diary. Many truths, and many devious plots lying under the surface of what was commonly known. Lydia never knew what began that night before she and her family fled the city, but what happened that night was earthshaking. The Overworld was never the same again.

The courier slipped down the alleyways of Luminara as quickly as he could, avoiding the pools of torchlight from the windows and the street lamps. His message was rolled up and tucked in his shirt. Nothing moved on the streets around him- it was deadly quiet. The quiet ruffled him. It made him think that he would be more easily caught. If anyone was watching him...No. No one was watching him. Even if someone was, he could think of an excuse. A friend of his had left something at his house, and he couldn't wait until morning to return it...

After a few more breathless strides, the messenger turned a corner and flattened himself against the wall, waiting for his breath to slow. He strained his ears listening for any sound of a pursuer or a trail, but the night remained heavily silent. Good. The man peeled himself off the wall and stalked to the third door down, tapping a pattern of beats on the wood with his fingertips. Someone immediately cracked open the door.

"Who hails in the starlight?" A gruff voice called. 'Starlight' was the codeword. The messenger softly cleared his throat.

"One who would like to get out of the fog." he answered. 'Fog' was the response if he was confident he had not been tracked or followed. If he had, he would have answered 'rain'.

"Enter." the voice said, and the door opened fully to allow the man inside. The messenger stepped gratefully into the light, and the door shut behind him.

The messenger stood in a large common room with a roaring fire in the brick fireplace at the end of the room and a pair of benches just before the blaze. There were four other men in the room. One leaned on the warm bricks by the fire, a tall, burly man in a cyan shirt and blue pants. He had the marks of a miner, and a scratched diamond pick leaned against the wall beside him. Another was pacing the room behind the benches, wearing dark pants and a the green tunic of a forester. There was another sitting stiffly on one of the benches in the same uniform. A man in red lounged easily on the other bench.

"Our messenger has arrived," the pacing forester announced, and the other three looked up at the courier. That was the gruff voice that had opened the door for him.

"Let's see it," the miner impatiently grumbled. The messenger fumbled for the scroll in his shirt, handing it to the forester. The man snatched it immediately in one leather-gloved hand and unrolled it, reading aloud.

"The southern quarter has started sending out guards to keep the peace. The rangers of the forest have been asked to help guard the borders of the Kingswatch construction site, and I now give the order to move the bands away from that sector for the time being.

The street hands have been hard at work in the city council, and unrest is growing against H. I have received word from L, keep harrying the satellite settlements to the North.

Be ready in three days. L is coming here."

The forester rolled up the scroll as his companions gawked.

"He's coming here?!" the seated forester exclaimed. "Ari, you know what this means-"

"Of course I do," Ari said nonchalantly, tossing the scroll into the fire. "Amand, come sit down." The messenger carefully came to the bench where the red-shirted man moved over to make room.

"Don't get too worked up, Jortis," The miner warned. "He doesn't like doubt you know. Remember what happened to Surya?" Jortis shivered. A mine had collapsed only a few weeks earlier, and Surya, the only one of the group to try and leave, had been crushed to death. Beor, the big miner that stood in the room now, had witnessed it happen, and had known exactly who was responsible. Ari turned and faced the group, the firelight gleaming in his black hair.

"Now, this is what I have planned to do..." Ari began.

Through the entire meeting, none of the men realized they had an eavesdropper on the roof, listening through the chimney. The tall, dark-eyed figure rose from his perch as the men emerged from the building in pairs and went off into the night, and focused on the black-haired forester.

He had been watching these meetings for some time now, not knowing exactly how to act. It had all begun with just a few rogues vanishing into the countryside, but now there were men like this in the city. Men like this who would bring about the downfall of his people. He had to act. There was no longer any time. They would overthrow his laws and his appointed leaders, and bring the peace of the city crashing down. He was reluctant at first, but deep in his heart there was a growing anger. Better to follow the anger, he reasoned, then that other feeling. That black pit of guilt and regret. These were his people- was it his fault they became this way? Herobrine brushed the thought aside. He needed to move. The man was getting away.

Breathing in deeply, Herobrine lifted off of the roof tiles and floated gently in the air, just a few fingers up in the air. Silent as a shadow, he stayed low to the rooftops as he trailed the black-haired man, waiting for the messenger to leave him and catch him on his own.

Herobrine narrowed his eyes. This was the man- the leader of this group. He would use this one to find the one really orchestrating the growing evil.

The black haired man-Ari, he said his name was- said farewell to the messenger at a crossroads, and walked alone down the main thoroughfare in the bright pools of light of the street lamps. Herobrine flew silently ahead of him, confident he would not be seen with the lights below, and dropped down into an unlit alleyway. He drew out his pick, waiting with his back to the wall for the man to pass.

Footsteps scraped on the stones just before the corner. Herobrine whirled his pick out into the open, hooking the man across the chest, and yanked him into the alley. Instantly, he had his hand over the man's mouth and the pick firmly secured so that the forester couldn't use his arms. The forester grunted and struggled, and instantly froze as Herobrine turned his head far enough to see his face.

"Shh," Herobrine whispered. "I wouldn't need you waking the city. As a matter of fact, you wouldn't either. Not with what I know." Ari paled. "That's right. The raids from the forest. The missing children. You saw what happened to the men who kidnapped them. You saw what I did at the shrines. And do you know what will happen to the man that gave the order?" The forester visibly swallowed, but he looked Herobrine steadily in the eye. He was confident in himself, Herobrine had to give him that.

"You can save yourself, perhaps," Herobrine mused, moving so that he had the man pinned with his back against the wall. "There is one last piece of the puzzle I need. One more name I have not yet located. I will, eventually, without help, but I would prefer to do things quickly. Who sent you that note?" _And who is L? _But he left that much unsaid. Better find that out from the next one. Herobrine pried his hand off the man's jaw. Ari smirked.

"Whatever I tell you isn't going to change much for me." Ari said in a low, mocking voice. "This city needs change- and we don't need you." Herobrine slapped him in the face.

"A name, Ari," Herobrine spat, "And nothing more. Allow me to make this clear- you will die here and now if you do not." Ari rolled his head back up to face Herobrine again.

"Will I?" Ari retorted. "You'll probably want me to lead you to the rat hole- no, you won't kill me-" Ari jerked suddenly, shoving out against the pick holding him in place and then back again, and then down. Herobrine's pick rattled against the wall with the man suddenly gone, rolling himself off the ground and running out onto the street. Herobrine followed.

The clever forester, however fast he was, was no match for Herobrine. Herobrine flew up over his head and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him up and up into the air, high over the city. Ari gasped but did not scream. He immediately went rigid, grasping the collar of his tunic with both hands.

Herobrine went far enough that they left the city itself and came upon a small lake. Herobrine dropped Ari, and the forester howled as he fell and splashed down into the water. Then the god watched with contempt as the man swam desperately for shore, and dropped down on the sand just as the man dragged himself out of the water.

"It seems you underestimated how serious I am," Herobrine said softly in a tone that gave Ari chills. He slowly approached the man, who scrambled to his feet and started unconsciously backing away. "You and all the others you work with are trying to destroy the peace I have made. Don't bother with explaining-" He interjected when Ari opened his mouth. "I already know. You want more than this, and not just for yourselves. You want less for others, too. You want to be above other people, the ones you call weak and useless. But you are equal to them in my eyes- I created all of you. Do not try to hide this from me. Who is your leader, who sent you a messenger and a note tonight?" Ari spat at him.

With a wordless cry, Ari charged at Herobrine with his fists raised. Herobrine dodged aside, but Ari attacked again, picking up a large fallen limb. Herobrine arced his pick around and knocked it away. On the backstroke, the sharp end of the pick drove into Ari's chest and flattened him on the ground. He coughed once, shuddered, and was still.

Herobrine sighed. This was not the first time he had dealt with this. He had captured numerous conspirators, judged them, and often as not, executed them. He had closed off mines and created restrictions to winnow out the evildoers. But he found himself no closer to the root of the problem. Not for the first time, he wished his brother were here. While Herobrine could not see fully into the hearts of men, Notch could. It would be so much simpler, if only he were on the Overworld.

Removing his diamond pick, now glistening red, he dropped it aside and let one hand hover over the dead man's heart, close but not touching. A faint light drew out of the wound, gathering into a tight sphere under Herobrine's hand. This was the man's soul, and all he could do now, was send it on its way to be judged by his brother. Lifting his hand, he sent the orb into the skies where it would rise to the Aether, to await Notch.

"Now, you bastard, I'll make proper use of you." Herobrine muttered. "You know who to seek out. Now you'll spend the rest of eternity destroying the very evil you allied with. Go, and know you can never touch innocent blood again." Herobrine drew power from his mental reserves and pushed it in a steady stream into the lifeless body. The eyes darkened, and the skin fell loose and rotting. The corpse became reanimated, and Herobrine sent it in the direction he knew a band of raiders camped. Other bodies followed, rising up out of the dirt, fueled by Herobrine's rage.

He could not find the leader- but he could show whoever it was his power. His hand had been forced. Now it was time to teach his opponent not to play with life and death. That was the game at which Herobrine was best at.

And he wasn't yet finished. He flew up into the air once more, landing in a desert basin. Many cacti stood in the lonely sands. Herobrine went up to one and let it animate just as the body had before. The plant at once sent out vines that wrapped into four small feet. As a subtle touch, Herobrine gave it openings that imitated an expression of anguish.

"Go and spread your spores." Any evildoer that met with one of these would find a nasty surprise- the plant would explode, killing its attacker and spreading spores to grow more. Another creature followed- a spider, enhanced to man-size. No walls could keep such a creature out.

Herobrine would protect all of his people from these horrors. He swore that night that no righteous man or woman or child would come to harm from his new creation, but any that shunned his laws and his protection would find themselves swarmed by the deadly creatures of the night.

Wearied, Herobrine flew once again into the starry skies, back to Luminara.

He had warned the rangers of this ahead of time- he was confident that any that needed to know what he was doing would know. He decided to get some rest with his work done- he had an appointment the next day with one of his loyal followers, and his two delightful children.

Herobrine thought of little Lydia and smiled.

_If only more of my people were still like you. _

A dark figure watched Herobrine fly past and nodded in satisfaction. Herobrine, he thought, was so predictable. Everything was going just as planned. Then he vanished without a trace.

* * *

**Ooh, this is getting fun! Who sent that letter? Who is this "L"? What does it mean? Things are definitely starting to heat up around here! Maybe this will clear up some of the things that happened in the wars and the fall of you-know-who. (I never dreamed writing prequels could be so much fun!)**

**We have...wait for it... MONSTERS! Now what?! Things are about to get messy! **

**I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I liked writing it. If you did, please leave a REVIEW. I have a goal of FIFTY (count 'em, 50) reviews before I finish Book One of the Chronicle. Can I make it? That's up to you! Fifty reviews, and make 'em good! The more I get, the faster I update (and the more I add.) Any extra details and characters you want me to toss in and play with? I'll need them before long. (Think about it. I've got a whole city of people about to start a civil war. I need extra character ideas- I can't just pull these out of a hat.) Leave that in a review. I'll see what I can add. **

**See you next chapter! Huntress out.**


	5. Sparks

**CHRONCLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter Four: Sparks_

Herobrine leaped up onto his black warhorse and closed his legs on the animal's sides. Immediately the great charger sprang forward, galloping down the street to meet the crowd head-on, sparks flying from the cobbles in his wake. The wind picked up, spurring the rider on and flattening the crowd back. He didn't risk a glance back to ensure the safety of Jonas and his family. They were on their own now- he had other matters to deal with.

The mob, for example.

As Herobrine pounded closer and closer, the crowd stopped moving forward, but they did not retreat. Herobrine narrowed his eyes and did not let his horse slow.

Just as he was about to barrel into the front ranks, he leaned back and pulled sharply on the reigns. The black horse stopped short and reared, warding off the nearest people with its raised hooves.

Thunder rolled in the skies and dark clouds began to roll in ominously on the high winds. For several heartbeats, no one moved.

"Is this not what you called for?" Herobrine shouted over the wind to the crowd. "Did you not call for me to come out?"

A wave of muttering swept over the crowd, some of it angry, some of it fearful. Herobrine analyzed the crowd as it shifted and murmured, his black irises flinty in the stormy light. Blinding light flashed overhead, and the smell of ozone filled the air as thunder rolled again.

"Here I am," Herobrine shouted, releasing the reigns and spreading his arms wide. The crowd fell deadly silent, replying with only steely glares. Herobrine dropped his arms and nudged the horse forward with his knees to walk a few steps closer. The front ranks drew back to let him by, but not out of fear of him. They were just keeping out of the way of his horse. Herobrine knew something was wrong as his horse waded into the crowd. These people had reacted too quickly, too violently, to too vast of an extreme. He wondered deeply who had riled up the populace like this. What had started this chain of events in the first place.

A hoarse voice shouted from the crowd and broke his concentration.

"What coward stays mounted so he can ride away to safety instead of facing us like a man?" Herobrine's head snapped around and immediately located the speaker- a stout, brown-haired man with watery brown eyes.

_Ahh, he does have a point, _Herobrine thought. Best not to make them any angrier. He knew just how delicate the situation was- not complying could enliven the mob again, and then where would he be? Best not to assert his power here- these were his people, not criminals.

"A coward would not have ridden out to meet you," Herobrine called to the speaker. Securing the reigns around the saddle horn, he swung one leg over the saddle and slid off, landing lightly on the ground with his hands half-raised in a gesture of peace. "I am not here to do harm."

Immediately, a stone struck him in the face.

Herobrine had sensed it coming, but he decided not to react. As he reached up to touch his now-bleeding cheekbone, he examined the thrower of the stone closely. It was a teenage girl, tall and wiry with dark hair. She had forced her way through the crowd to attack Herobrine face-to-face, and now stood before him with feet apart and fists clenched, glaring back at him with icy blue eyes. Herobrine knew who this was.

_Ari, _he thought. That was the name of her father- Ari, the rogue, the one responsible for the deaths of six people.

And now here was his daughter, standing here, pointing one trembling finger at him accusingly.

"You," she hissed, jaw clenched. "You killed my father." Another stone flew at Herobrine from another angle and another wave of muttering went through the crowd. Several angry exclamations were heard, but no one else attacked. Herobrine caught the stone right before it collided with his temple without looking up. Leveling his gaze at the girl, he dropped the stone and let it clatter to the ground.

"You know for what crimes your father died," Herobrine replied coldly. "He killed six others among this city, and was responsible for many others through accomplices. He paid the price. By taking others' lives, he made his own forfeit. Is that not fair?"

The crowd roiled with angry outcries.

"Who are you to decide justice for us like that?" someone shouted. Other voices took up the cry.

"Tyrant!"

"You have no right to judge us!"

"We can govern ourselves!"

Herobrine knew the situation was spiraling out of control then.

"You say such things, yet hundreds of your own kind are at war against you, killing and stealing!" Herobrine bellowed. "And yet, you do nothing! You will not empower yourselves against injustice! You are divided against one another. You are not ready to govern yourselves!"

The crowd fell silent all of a sudden, and Herobrine hoped that they had listened to him. But one man cried out and dashed that hope in an instant.

"Bastard!"

The entire crowd exploded into action, and, raising their torches and stones, surged forward as one.

* * *

Scrambling down the stairs, Lydia struggled with the straps of her pack one-handed with Hanna's hand firmly clasped in her other. Drayda was at the base of the stairs, helping Alayne pack up the bare essentials. Outside, the noise increased. There was a sound like tearing fabric and the ground shook with a deafening blast of thunder. As if cautiously testing them, a low tap-tap of rain began to come down on the roof.

Then a wave of rain blew into the house with a sound like a cascade of pebbles. The wind howled, and the rain fell harder and harder, coming down in sheets.

Jonas finished tying a kerchief around his head to staunch the bleeding on a fresh weal, and then crossed the living room and opened the back door of the house by the stairs. A wave of rain blew in, soaking the floorboards. He nodded to Alayne and Drayda and vanished into the storm, holding his cloak tightly around himself.

Alayne swept Hanna up into her arms and Drayda snatched Lydia's hand, adjusting the straps on her pack with a series of short, merciless jerks. Then Lydia was pulled out the door, a cloak thrown about her shoulders just before she was thrust out into the freezing rain. Struggling to see, Lydia splashed after the blurry outline of her mother as Drayda towed her along towards a few blotches of horse-shaped color.

Other rangers and forest-wanderers awaited them at the fence. Drayda was shouting something in Lydia's ear- she shook her head to show that she couldn't understand her over the storm. Drayda sighed and shoved Lydia into the arms of a black-cloaked ranger, who lifted her onto the saddle of his gray-mottled horse before leaping up behind her on the saddle.

The door slammed. Lydia could just make out Alayne as she locked the back door of the house and crossed the yard in a few running strides, mounting her white mare behind Hanna. The four-year-old sat stiffly on the saddle, not making a sound as the rain poured down and the saddle, much too big for her, strained her legs. She snuggled close to her mother, eyes wide. Alayne wrapped her daughter's cloak tighter around her tiny shuddering body and hugged her tightly. From where Hanna was sitting, she couldn't see the murderous look on Alayne's face at what was happening.

No child should have to go through this. Especially not any child of her's.

"Let's go!" Drayda commanded, wheeling her horse about. The other rangers followed quickly, digging their knees in and urging their horses into a gallop. Lydia wrapped her hands around the saddle horn and held on tight.

Rain whipping their faces, wind buffeting their cloaks, the party rode out down side-streets and down the paths that would take them out of the city. Lydia thought she heard other horses galloping after them, but it was hard to tell thunder from the sounds of pursuit. She tried to twist around to look, but the ranger she was riding with pushed her head forward again with one elbow, shouting for her to stay still. Swallowing, Lydia settled back down and hoped that they would make it out without trouble. She thought of the arrow that almost hit her father just hours before and shivered, only half from the cold.

Why were all those people so angry?

All of a sudden, the city wall loomed up dead ahead of them. The entire party turned to go parallel to the wall to reach the gates, and Lydia caught a glimpse of the crowd again from a distance down the street that ran straight through the entire city. There were bright flames visible despite the rain, and a rumble of voices that defied the storm. A cold feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach.

Something went wrong when the first two rangers rode out the gates.

"AMBUSH!" Drayda roared as thunder rolled, and Lydia heard metal ring as the seasoned forester drew her sword. Lydia couldn't see what exactly had happened, but both the rangers were visible through the rain just outside the gates, swinging their swords.

"Get them out!" Drayda ordered, and the horse under Lydia sprang forward, knocking her back into the ranger behind her. As they passed through the gates, she got one swift glance at what Drayda had seen- there were parties of armed fighters outside every gate down the walls. The two rangers were fighting hard to keep them at bay to let Lydia and her family ride safely out. Drayda shot out of the city, her sword swinging down at one of the mounted bandits.

Then Lydia was past the ambushers and could no longer see what transpired behind her.

She couldn't see any of the rest of her family around her, and the ranger wouldn't let her look back. Squeezing her eyes shut, she desperately prayed that they would all get out of this alive.

* * *

Herobrine struggled in a sea of fiery eyes and battering limbs. Someone hit him behind the knee, and he fell to the ground. Immediately the sea of people closed around him, stomping down and thrusting fiery torches at him. He batted them away, and splayed his limbs, unbalancing his nearest assailants. Leaping up, he flew up into the air, but someone grabbed his ankle. He could have flown away, but what would that have done except terrified this new attacker into losing his grasp and falling to his death? Herobrine floated back down, and the sea swallowed him once more.

From that short flight he could see what the riot was really doing. While there were some chanting his name in hatred, there were a vast many others around the streets using the riot as an excuse for violence. Some were throwing rocks without caring who they hit. Some were in groups shattering windows and breaking into shops, coming out with armloads of valuables.

Several windows were gleaming yellow with fire inside, but the rain kept any external fires extinguished. They were looting. Herobrine shook his head- this was simply to surreal. There was simply too much violence.

He needed to distract the mob.

Pushing backwards through the throngs, Herobrine came to a place where he could have a wall to his back. From there, he surveyed his options

There, on the street corner, was a tall ornamental tree. It was on the other side of the than he was trapped on, but it would do to let him out of the choking grasp of the enraged rioters.

Ducking underneath the swing of a heavy length of wood, Herobrine summoned a fireball into his palm. Reaching up, he grabbed his attacker's shoulder and used that to lift himself, slugging the fireball up and over the heads of the crowd. Then he ducked back down and fended off the countless battering fists and sticks as best as he could.

An explosion shook the street. For a moment, the angry cacophony of the crowd turned to surprised screams and everyone turned to view the pillar of fire that sprang up in the darkening night skies.

That was the chance he needed. Flying up into the air, he drew the wind towards himself and made a funnel of stormwinds spiral down at the nearest square in the thick of the crowd. The people there screamed and scattered, opening a space for him. He threw a fireball down to gain their attention, and it landed without exploding and blew flames across the cobbles in a wide circle.

Releasing his focus, Herobrine dropped to the ground and landed with a resounding _boom. _

The noise did not stop, but the nearest rioters halted to regard him coldly. Some of them ran forward to attack, but Herobrine was quite finished being beaten down for one night. He sent a blast of energy outwards that pushed the attackers back the way they came, back into the crowd.

Someone let out a hysterical cry.

"He's using his black magic! See?! _SEE?! _This is what he really is! Get the monster!"

The entire crowd surged towards Herobrine en mass, but all of a sudden, they slowed to a stop, mid-stride.

The raindrops hung frozen in the air, and a warm light filled the street, overpowering the gleam from the fires and the gloom of the storm. The smell of ozone and rain was replaced by a clear, crisp scent that Herobrine knew well. It was the smell of the clean Aether air, high above this world and beyond the mists of the Void. He knew what was happening. With a resigned sigh, he relaxed and closed his eyes.

"What happened here, Herobrine?"

He knew that voice better than any other.

_Notch. _

Herobrine opened his eyes and turned.

There Notch stood, haloed in his golden light. The rest of the world around them was frozen, suspended in time by Notch's power. Herobrine took a deep breath before answering, steadying himself. He felt the mental pressure of his brother's superior power, and he allowed the barriers of his own mind to fall and allow Notch to see everything. Likely, even with time frozen like this, he would not have time to explain in detail. This way was faster.

"Something I was hoping would not come to pass," Herobrine answered. "This," he said, gesturing to the frozen people around him, "is part of something that has been going on for many months now." He sighed. "I only wish whoever it is did not retaliate in such a way.

Notch came up on a blank place in Herobrine's mind. Herobrine sensed his brother's confusion and thought, _I have yet to find out who. _Notch did not respond, but the confusion faded.

He looked around, his dark eyes seeing every face twisted and frozen in rage. He looked back at his brother.

"What have you done to anger your people so?" he asked, brow furrowed. Herobrine looked away.

"It isn't what I have done," Herobrine replied. "It's how they've been told the tale. I'm sure you heard them coming here. They used to love me and they never feared my power. Now they call me a monster who wields black magic." He scoffed lightly, looking up to the sky.

Notch was worried. He had reason to be- he had heard worrying things about what his brother had done on this world, and now he had discovered all of them to be true when he came to investigate. The restrictions, the cat-and-mouse between Herobrine and the growing criminal underworld, the trials and executions, and worst of all, the monsters. Herobrine believed himself at least mostly innocent of guilt, but his mind was tangled with unseen motives and hidden plans. Whatever he had gotten into, he was in deep.

"You didn't need to go to such extremes," Notch said. "Why have you driven your people to this point?"

Herobrine looked at Notch sharply.

"This was not meant to drive them to anything!" he snapped. "Notch, there is something else out there. Something that is eluding my powers of perception, and it's corrupting my people. I have to do whatever I can to root out this evil, and quickly. Please, you must understand."

Notch sighed.

"I know what this looks like!" Herobrine exclaimed, suddenly fearful as his brother turned his back. "You must know it. You have seen the truth in the souls of these people. Something is wrong here. The monsters- you know what that meant. I had to act."

"I know," Notch breathed, barely loud enough for Herobrine to hear. Herobrine fell silent, grateful. Notch looked back over his shoulder to Herobrine. "I will do what I can for now. We will speak of this again later."

As Notch turned away and broke off the mental connection, a deep sense of dread pierced his heart.

_Laskig warned me of this,_ he thought, opening the way to ascend to the Aether once more.

Herobrine watched as his brother faded from sight and the light of the Aether faded back into the dull glow of late dusk. Slowly, the raindrops regained momentum and the people began to move again.

He was left to face the crowd on his own.

* * *

At last, Drayda and her party of rangers broke free of the ambushers and rejoined Jonas and his family.

"Go!" she shouted over the wind. Jonas nodded and urged his horse faster, drawing alongside the ranger that carried Lydia. He gave her a reassuring smile, and she weakly smiled back.

"It's going to be okay," he said, but the storm tore his words away. He didn't know if any of his family heard him or not.

Drayda rode up behind Alayne to shield her and her child from any opportunist ambushers. Twisting on the saddle, she caught a glimpse of a few riders still whole enough to follow. Grimly, she decided that would have to changed.

Turning back forward, she nocked an arrow on her bow and twisted backwards again and fired. One of the riders went down. The other two behind the unfortunate pursuer were caught up in the fall, and all three disappeared from sight as the ranger party entered the forest.

The family rode on through the night, all sounds of pursuit lost to the forest.


	6. Treachery

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter Five: Treachery_

Lydia looked up at the dark sky and shivered. Her breath clouded in the night air, and a layer of frost seemed intent on crawling up into everything, including her cloak. Slivers of cold pierced the worn weave of the fabric every time the wind blew, and her feet were cold, the chill creeping in through the leather. She was standing watch at the sentry post on the south side of the Ranger camp, her back to a tree, and her mind wandering. The skies above were clouded over, with not a star or a shadow of the new moon filtering through. Thunder rolled in the distance, signaling incoming snow on the horizon.

Drayda had been correct after all. With her limp and her age, Drayda had the weather-ache of an experienced ranger in her bones, and it had been particularly bad today. Lydia's apprentice master and old family friend had decided to halt progress and strike a camp early- a sturdy, permanent camp-, in preparation for a heavy snow. Under the clear skies, the younger rangers had grumbled (all except her apprentice Lydia), but the older ones exchanged glances and did what she said.

The flurries started that evening, and now everyone could smell the incoming blizzard. Drayda simply smiled and nodded, not bothering with her usual short-tempered _I told you so _that she gave to the apprentices. She was a good ranger master, to apprentice and full-fledged ranger alike, but she didn't take well to any idleness or hesitation in taking orders. Nor did she take well to any apprentice not thinking for themselves. Apprentices usually caught themselves in confusion in between obeying an order or following their interpretation. Regardless, whatever they did, they had better do it quickly.

Lydia learned fast.

The night was so still that Lydia nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Drayda's sharp call for the change of watch. Eagerly, she struggled out of her stiff position and hurried back to camp, passing the next ranger coming to watch on her way into the barrier. Her ranger master awaited her, thrusting a hot cup of herbal tea at her, the sort that chased away the cold the fastest...and could nearly stand up on its own without the cup. Lydia took it with a brief word of thanks and carefully sipped, not quite used to its bitter strength yet.

Lydia was now four months past sixteen, and she had been an apprentice to Drayda for just that long, leaving home at the earliest possible chance. Jonas had become protective and restrictive after their close encounters with death back in Luminara five years past, and to Lydia, it was suffocating. She loved to travel and see new things, and she was desperate to get away from home. Her father almost hadn't allowed her to leave. If not for Alayne's firm support for her daughter, Lydia wouldn't be standing here now. Now she was training to be a forester, someone who protected the wilds and kept the roads and the forests cleared of criminals and natural dangers, and acting as the protection for people living outside Luminara and its satellite settlements, which were fast becoming cities of their own right.

"Cold out there," Drayda remarked, looking eastward towards the storm front. The squall line was nearly overhead already, and still moving fast. "And it's still getting colder. We'll have to call in the next watch early. You hear that, Baulder?" she called to the ranger tending the fire. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Turning back to Lydia, she said, "And you go get some sleep. Make sure you wrap up warm- you might just wake up with your tent halfway buried in snow. I'm turning in."

"Goodnight, then," Lydia answered, before going off to the tent she shared with the two other female rangers with the party, full rangers but only just graduated from apprenticeship. Drayda reminded them of that enough to keep them from picking on Lydia.

As the rangers wrapped up and hunkered down for the night, a shadow passed overhead, unseen behind the squall of the storm.

High above the clouds, a dark, bat-winged figure flew on the thin air, striving due north without any notice of the cold. It was no ordinary creature, the rest of it was vaguely humanoid, and it flew too fast to be a bird or a bat. Abruptly, it was beyond the storm and visible against the stars, but by now it was too far to have anyone below to see it. There were simply no people this far out yet.

The mountains below were icy crags, with spears of packed ice thrusting upwards at the sky like thorns. The land was desolate this far north, and nothing grew, not even the occasional spruce or fern. It was too cold, and too hostile. Everything was either rock or ice, or, occasionally, snow.

It called this place home.

The peak of one of the mountains was hollow. Tucking its wings, the figure pointed downwards and dove, thundering straight down into the opening and flaring at the last moment, coming nearly to a dead stop at the mouth of the spout. It was deep underground by now, in a vaulted chamber dominated by a ring of stars, spilling unearthly light about the cold stone and over the dully glowing pools of lava found in these deep bowels of the earth. Twelve glassy eyes stared back up at the figure as he flapped lazily to stay aloft, and he looked down into the portal, contemplating its dizzying depths, a star-filled void below him, and a star-filled void above him through the spout.

With a sigh, it wheeled about and landed on the floor a little ways from the portal. The dark mass of the figure warped and trembled, shifting into a more recognizably human shape without wings. Glowering red eyes opened to the gloom, transformation finished, and a dark-clothed, dark-skinned individual stood in its place, clearly male. The figure considered the natural vaults and pools around him, and decided that work would need to be done on this place before it was all over. This more resembled his thieves' dens in the wilderness than a palace of a ruler. Herobrine still held that glory over him, the figure darkly ruminated, with his city and his palace, his _Kingshall _in Luminara, built by his human brats for him.

No matter. That would change soon enough.

The figure ascended the stairs to the portal and, closing his glowing eyes, stepped into the portal.

The portal magic flurried around him, twisting him apart and spitting him out on the other side of the dimensional wall. He cursed his inability ever moment of the passage, knowing painfully well all of his limitations because of his lowly rank in the Aether. He could manipulate matter, but not create it. He could transform living creatures, including himself, but not infuse life into creatures of his own. He could create a passage to another dimension, but he couldn't travel between them at will. No, he had to use these portals and small magics like any other disgusting mortal.

That, he hoped with desperation, would change even sooner.

At last on the other side (_portal travel is so slow!, _he angrily thought), the figure found himself on a barren plain of softly glowing stone, an inversion of the Overworld above. The Void hovered above in its total opaque darkness, and the ground glowed below. There were people here, yes, even here, but their cities were strangely quiet beneath the stone hills. Their obsidian powerhouses were blasted and empty. Some were crumbled to black dust.

_So It has gone so far already, _he thought to himself as he hovered over a small residence.

Perhaps that would help his plans along.

Moving quickly across the barren plain, he saw the place where great obsidian towers were going up, black on blacker. They were being built by the tall, slender Endermen teleporting up and down, block by block. Their lively lavender eyes were glazed, and their cries lazy and animal. It had taken their minds, the great Thing. They were It's slaves now.

The Thing itself was flapping noisily between the half-built towers, growling at any Enderman seen hesitating. It had grown more solid than when he had been here last, he decided, and certainly much bigger. It was getting stronger.

He hovered patiently outside the ring of towers, knowing that It had already noticed him and was making him wait deliberately. No matter, he was here on It's terms, after all. He had to get on It's good side to get what he wanted.

It flapped back and forth for a while, then at last landed and stood on four feet in the center of the ring, raising a purple-eyed face to regard him on a long, lithe neck. It had chosen an fascinating form, using batlike wings and four legs, and a long, serpentine tail and neck and horns on its head. This created a daunting effect, the very figure of a nightmare beast.

Which was probably the point.

_**You may approach. **_

He came forward obediently, remarking to himself on how overwhelming It's telepathic command was. Stopping a safe distance from It, he settled to the ground and waited for It to speak first.

**_Come closer,_**It said with a sadistic grin on its reptilian features. He came a few paces closer, hoping he could stay out of range out of pragmatism rather than fear. Even in this form he could not be killed, but injury meant inconvenience. **_You have come to ask your deal once again? I hope you have fulfilled my demands._**

"I have," He said out loud, his voice weak and thin in comparison to It's demonically low and incredibly powerful telepathic voice. "I have created my networks among the mortals, and created sufficient chaos to unnerve even Notch. It is in the form of small skirmishes and abductions and burglaries I have unnerved Herobrine himself, and I have driven him to the point of tyrrany. The mortals chafe against the younger of the Creator Brothers. And the Elder has lost his trust in him. The situation has been stagnating for half a decade now, and it is ripe to begin a new stage to tear the Brother even further from the Aether."

It nodded it's approval, settling down and folding its forelegs before it.

**_The Elder does not know of your responsibility for this? _**

"No. Neither of them know."

**_And the Younger does not know that his brother is turning against him?_**

"Certainly not."

It flicked a claw at him, sending up a puff of dust that blew past him.

**_You are certain the Elder is actually turning against his brother? Because if you are not..._** A whole clawed hand smashed into the rock, throwing a spray of stones and dust sideways. He inhaled and looked It in the eye.

"I am certain," he said stiffly, enunciating every word. "The time could not be more perfect. It is time to make our deal."

It gave him another wolfish grin and a low growl of approval.

* * *

Herobrine sighed and waved of the scribe, turning back to view the gardens. His power kept the blizzard off the city, but a steady downfall of snow still came through, carpeting the pebble paths and covering the flowers and trees. It was very quiet, and deceptively peaceful.

It had been a long five years.

The riot of 252 had not been the last, and by no means the most violent. He had been busy night and day, exhausting himself and every resource he had in uncovering the sources of unrest. Things had quieted down over the summer at last, but he was still wary. There was still something wrong, very wrong. He could still feel walls closing in around him, but from what power, he didn't know.

_I'm a Creator, _Herobrine thought wryly. _Legendary even in the Aether. No others came before myself and my brother. Now it has come to this- I am exhausted and befuddled tracking down common criminals. _

But even he knew it was not as simple as that. For everything to stay hidden so long, there had to be extra power involved. He had not seen his brother in a long time, but when he did, he should bring up the idea of treachery within the pantheon of the Aether. Either these mortals were wielding mystical powers beyond the gods' control, or they were getting help from somewhere. Besides, someone had led them astray. None of them were meant to become so evil.

Herobrine shook his head and turned back, telling the scribe he was finished for now, and the paperwork could be finished later. The leaders of the city of Luminara were giving him a deluge- petitions, letters, laws... He was simply too preoccupied.

There was another one. He could make a volcano explode with a thought, and got tied up all day by a desk full of paperwork.

Snow crunching under his feet, Herobrine made his way down the street on foot, walking like an ordinary being. The main thoroughfare had been repaired since the riots, showing none of the burnt-out shells or broken windows of those horrifying nights and days. Businesses were back in order. People went back to their daily lives.

And beneath that tranquil surface, everyone was waiting for him to break his word so they could rebel again.

Herobrine had sated their appetite for violence with redoubling his efforts to finding out the wicked, and allowing the people greater freedom in ruling and regulating themselves. They formed their own police force now and elected their own leaders for it, and set up their own tax system and reformed the city council to exclude Herobrine. Herobrine now existed outside the entire system, becoming more and more an outsider.

It had been a long five years.

He went now to the south wall of the city, headed for Kingshall, the finished palace meant for the eventual ruler of the city. But just as he was about to enter, a man approached him.

"Herobrine."

His address was cold and polite, but with no honorifics or titles. Simply 'Herobrine', as one would address and equal. Herobrine turned, hand still hovering before the door.

"The Council wishes for you to complete the report today, sir." The man's voice did not waver, and his tone was slightly reprimanding. Herobrine stopped and considered this. The Council had been growing ever more strict and disrespectful towards him as time went by, demanding more and more. It was as if they were trying to restrict him like he had been before, or so they so readily claimed when he spoke to them.

"Come with me," Herobrine said, beginning to open the tall wooden door. The man stopped him.

"Sir, I-"

"Just come." Herobrine's teeth clenched on the last word, his easy tone vanishing. Turning away from the man, he pushed open the door and swept inside, leaving the man to handle the heavy door himself to follow.

The entry hall was dark, with the brackets empty of torches along the wall and the chandeliers still waiting for their lights. Light filtered in through the windows from the lamps on the street, coming in in hazy blues and violets through the snow, making dim reflections and shadows on the floor. He headed straight through the main hall and into the main corridor, headed for the throne room itself. The man followed behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, unrelenting stride. His footsteps clacked hard and evenly against the tile, moving with purpose and power.

He stopped once inside the throne room. The room, now completed, was meant for the audience of a king, or, if Herobrine had his way, the heads of a Council. The floor was vast, with a narrow blue checked runner pattern in the tile leading up to the dais. A rounded niche in the wall held the dais, walled on its three sides with windows soaring up all three stories, and the high-backed throne centered within. Beyond the central aisle were two rows of arches making up the walls, allowing greater room for audience without dwarfing them with the room. Balconies ran above these arches, creating a second story. Herobrine followed the trail of blue and white checks, going up the stairs of the dais, but not approaching the throne. He clasped his hands behind his back and faced the man, who kept well of the dais.

"Now can we discuss the will of the Council?" he asked, dutifully keeping the impatience out of his voice. Herobrine did not answer at once, instead slowly pacing around and behind the throne, looking out the windows.

"What of my will, for these people?" Herobrine said thoughtfully, not looking at the man at all. He heard him shift from below the dais stairs.

"Sir, the deal stands. You must keep your end of the bargain, or the Council may not be able to keep the peace." The man knew he was running out of time to argue- it was getting very late.

"Oh, I know. Trust me," Herobrine said, turning back towards the man and pacing back towards the throne. "I am keeping my end of the bargain. Tell the Council that they told me a report would not be due until the end of the quarter, at the solstice. They will not subjugate me with their demands now." He laid a hand on the armrest of the throne, stroking the polished wood with delicate fingers.

"What?" Herobrine's reply had given the man pause. Trying not to sputter, the man tried a different tactic. "The circumstances are not uniform at all times. Situations change, sir, and they want a report now. I don't know the reason, I am merely the messenger."

"I know the circumstances better than they realize," Herobrine muttered. "I will not comply. It is petty, and part of a long stream of abuse. I am tired of it. Your best interests are in mind, and more is involved than they care to admit." Then he added, with a sigh, "They overstep their boundaries." The man was taken aback.

"What boundaries, sir? Please, remember the sentiments that started this mess. We want to make things peaceful, too."

"I know!" Herobrine snapped, pacing angrily around to the other side of the throne. "I know all too well the sentiments that began this. But I want them to remember _who I am! _They have treated me as much as their dog as their superior. These are not ordinary times!" He looked the man directly in the eye, and he shifted back a step. "Tell them I will not. They will have the report at the solstice and no sooner."

The man averted his gaze and politely coughed a few times, subtly straightening his vest and puffing up his chest. He was trying to make up for any lost dignity. He looked up at Herobrine, who was now facing the throne itself, as if contemplating some secret it held.

"Whoever you are to us," the man began as he prepared to leave, "That throne was meant for our king." There was a subtle warning in his words.

"I am not your king," Herobrine answered, turning around to face the man and putting his hands on the armrests. "I am your god."

Herobrine seated himself in the throne.

"Go now," he told the messenger, "And tell the Council what I have told you. Remind them that for all the riddles I speak in, I am warning them of the dangers of abandoning me at this time. Tell them that they must listen to me."

The messenger bowed stiffly and turned, walking out of the throne room and finding his own way out of the palace. The look of distress on his face was barely disguised.

The doors boomed shut after him with a sound of finality.

Herobrine sat back in the throne and closed his eyes.

* * *

**_You shall have them,_**It answered. **_For any purpose you may require them for. Destroy the brothers! Prepare a path for me through their world with chaos, and you shall have your great__ power!_**It stood and flapped its wings. The figure bowed, nodding to the Thing.

"It is a deal."

He could not keep the smile off of his face as he returned to his mountain home.

* * *

**End of Chapter Five. **

**Now it is Huntress speaking here, Amanda the Huntress at your service. **

**And BOY is it good to be back! Have I got some juicy things coming up for you now! I have action! Tragedy! Intrigue! And as always, mystery! (WHO IS L?! Find out soon!) **

**NaNoWriMo, as we all know, ended officially for me on December 1st, and allowed me to update Huntress's Tale, and now I have the long (Loooooong) awaited update on Chronicle! Happy now? I hope so. I've been struggling with this story, and I finally have a lot of things straightened out. I can see it now- all of the evil laughs that await me as I write the fate of Herobrine... **

**Anyway- **

**I missed you guys.**

**Thank you for reading, and welcome back! Leave a REVIEW if you liked it, and a FOLLOW and FAVORITE if you want more where that came from! **

**No. Seriously. Review. Not a drill, guys. I need feedback.**

**Happy I'M NOT STUCK ANYMORE, and I will see you next chapter!**

**Huntress out.**


	7. Laskig

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter Six: Laskig_

Years passed with few events in the diary. Lydia grew to be an accomplished ranger, earning her badge at eighteen like her mother before her. Hanna grew quickly too, becoming the beauty of the family and the envy of the street, with six different boys vying for her attention at any given time by the time she turned twelve. But, having inherited her mother's cool, collected nature, she politely ignored every one of them. She had little interest in boys.

The plot of the rogue god grew more insidious, now that he had the tools of the Endermen at his disposal. He maneuvered them carefully, making them fast friends with Herobrine as they had been in the past before the Shadow took them over, and Herobrine responded extremely well for his plots, willingly forging friendships on his own. The rogue used all of his power to separate Notch and Herobrine and prevent either of them from detecting the presence of the Shadow, but he could not keep them apart forever. Eventually they would meet again, and he had to ensure that they met on his terms.

Small skirmishes took place between man and Endermen. Hermits were killed on the fringes of the frontier. Property was destroyed. Materials and tools went missing here and there, never enough to notice. And far away in the mountains, a monstrous device was being forged to take down the gods.

All of which went on below the notice of Herobrine.

Eventually, the rogue deemed it time. Notch had declared a meeting be held in the Aether, and the rogue decided to deliver the invite himself.

Herobrine was actually occupied at the time, discussing small matters with the Council of Luminara. Relations had improved a little as time passed, with tensions easing as people began to take a more objective view of the events of the past. They were seated in the official Council chamber within Kingshall, around a dark, polished wooden table in a room lit luxuriously by chandeliers and magnificently high windows. Herobrine was just standing up to speak when a dark shape began to materialize above the table.

Dark skin covered by darker armor took shape and became solid, coming to a rest atop the table. A black-haired head looked up at Herobrine, glowing red eyes opening to regard the younger Creator.

"Well met, Laskig," Herobrine said warily, fishing the lesser god's name out of his memory of the Aether hierarchy. "Pray tell, for what reason have you interrupted the Council?"

"A gathering has been declared between the gods," Laskig replied. "I come on behalf of the Mighty Notch to deliver this message: Your presence is required immediately at the gathering. There are matters that must be discussed." Herobrine narrowed his eyes. He detected a trace of gloating on Laskig's handsome face, and that struck as discordant with his instincts. But the feeling was vague and he shook off his unease quickly, nodding curtly to the lesser god.

"I thank you for delivering this summons to me," Herobrine said. "I will come so soon as my duties here allow. My brother will understand." He deliberately said _my brother _casually, to remind Laskig of his position. Laskig bowed, vanishing from the table.

The council members exchanged nervous glances. Abruptly, the Council leader stood, looking Herobrine in the eye.

"Our business here can wait," he said quickly. "Your duties among the gods are surely more important than the petty matters we are discussing here. We will adjourn for now."

Herobrine nodded and bowed farewell.

"Thank you," he murmured as he began to teleport, his body momentarily misting out of existence.

Herobrine felt himself rise sharply, his spirit following the call of the more powerful being, his brother. A ripple passed through him as he went through the dimensional barrier, his being reshaping itself for the Aether. The process was slower than usual- it had been a long time since he had come home. His work kept him in the Overworld for the majority of his time.

As he re-formed in the Aether, Herobrine allowed himself a moment to take in his surroundings. The land was not solid, instead being a series of floating islands, each filled with gardens or graceful buildings. Creatures flew between the islands, warding off any being not a god. Light beamed down from above, the close sun filling the air with its golden radiance. Everything was clear and sharp, much sharper than the Overworld. The air was thinner here.

Taking a deep breath of the crisp, clear air, Herobrine stepped off his cloud and flew through the air with a thought. He could see the Gathering already- it was on a central island outside of Notch's own place of residence. A circle of trees gave them privacy and kept the various flying creatures at bay, and within the boundary a circle of gods already stood, all awaiting him. Notch stood in the center of the circle, and his face broke in a wide grin when he saw Herobrine flying towards him.

"All are present," Notch said, his voice booming even in the subdued quiet of the garden. "We may begin. Greetings to all. Hail Selene of the Night, hail Laskig of dreams,..." Notch went through the ritual greetings, naming each of the gods in turn, and ending with his brother. "And Hail Herobrine, fellow Creator and God of the Beginning."

"Hail Notch," the others replied when Notch lowered his hand. Herobrine glanced around the circle, seeing the same things he always saw at Gatherings. The circle was ordered from least powerful to most, with the least and the greatest of all the gods standing shoulder-to-shoulder. In this case, it was Notch who stood by the goddess Selene, striding to the empty place between Herobrine and Selene. To Herobrine, it seemed that the more powerful a god became, the less elaborate they dressed. Laskig wore his ornate black-on-black armor, and Huon his elaborate cloak and tunic imitating the human style of kings, but the more powerful Abstergo to the left of Herobrine dressed simply in nondescript black clothing. Notch was dressed the most plainly, wearing his earth-colored garb in vast contrast to Selene to his right in her white feathered gown.

"Let us begin," Notch said, making a wide gesture with his arms. Traditionally, the gods would simply discuss their most pressing troubles. Abstergo, the god of the Void, spoke up first.

"I have sensed malice in the Void as of late," he began in his wispy voice, little accustomed to speaking aloud. His quiet business in the Void seldom called for conversation. Everyone turned towards the dark-skinned, pale-eyed god, and Laskig had to force himself not to shift. It was important that this discussion went in the right direction from here. If it didn't, all his plans could be ruined...

"Of what kind?" Notch asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I cannot tell," Abstergo replied. "It is too far spread. It may be originating from above, as has happened before. The End within my realm is at peace."

Laskig relaxed and internally sighed with relief. They were going just the direction he wanted.

Notch looked to Herobrine.

"Is it?" he asked, his tone simply quizzical, not accusing. Herobrine shook his head.

"Not as far as my rule extends," he replied, "although there are humans I no longer rule. Times are more peaceful now than they have been for some time. The time of riots and warring is, at least for now, over."

"The malice remains," Abstergo insisted quietly. Herobrine sighed.

"If it comes from the Overworld," he resigned, "then I cannot sense it. There is no open malice within my realm, I assure you, but my rule extends to the lands of men, not to their hearts, and not very far into them at that."

"The trees are distressed," Terrae, goddess of the wildlife and growing things of the Overworld, whispered from a few spaces down from Abstergo. "The wilds are unquiet."

"That may not be from men," Herobrine said, knowing everyone was looking sharply at him now. They knew of the things of the night he spoke of. But he knew he had not overstepped his authority in creating them. He had been the initial creator of nearly all life in the Overworld and all the other realms- the others were merely stewards over his creation. Still, he could not ignore how he was being seen now. The other deities could not keep an ambiguous evil ambiguous for long. They would instinctively try to pin it to something- or someone- as soon as they could.

The gods each gave their accounts in turn, each one adding their complaint of a subtle unease or sense of wrongness in their respective realms. Each one also added their suspicions and veiled accusations leading to the Overworld and to Herobrine. It was clear they thought him responsible for something, although they did not know what. They believed it had to do with mankind, and all Herobrine was doing with them.

Then it was Laskig's turn to speak. He had waited for everyone to finish before speaking up, and now he took a step forward.

"I have watched the dreams of Man," he began, "And they are troubled. I send soothing thoughts and good dreams, but I am returned with nightmares. Herobrine," he turned to address Herobrine, a concerned look on his face, "Many are about you."

Everyone around the circle gasped quietly. Each and every one of the gods had been warning Herobrine of small things they may have believed him responsible for, giving him the benefit of the doubt, but this was direct. This was too open. Laskig had all but directly accused a Creator.

Which was the point, after all. Laskig had to carefully hold his features in check to avoid leering gleefully at Herobrine, as Herobrine's own expression darkened. He had made a malicious presence felt all throughout the realms with the new power of the Shadow and the Endermen slaves. The gods would have no cause to feel such a presence, unless there was something directly trying to cause destruction. Not just fire and catastrophe, but the utter destruction of matter and the resurgence of the Void. There were only two ways that could happen: A Void survivor loyal to the old cause, or a traitor within the pantheon of the Aether. Laskig was leading them to take the bait that Herobrine, and not the Shadow, was at fault.

Herobrine was taken aback by Laskig's words as well, but he was not surprised. He distinctly felt, once again, that something was directly working against him. Hardening his gaze at the god of dreams, he mentally filed him away for a little quiet investigation if he found the time.

"I see." Herobrine said. For some time, he did not speak, instead simply standing with his hands steepled in thought. Then he stepped forward, his hand half-raised in a gesture for silence. No one moved as he prepared to speak.

"I, too, have been troubled," he began. "Though things are peaceful among my people, it is commonly known that this has not been the case for much of the past decade. I will not deceive you- you have all seen the unrest of the past." He paused then, watching the reactions of the others around the circle.

"I tell you now that there is a subtle evil in the Overworld that even I am unable to locate. Your suspicions are the same as mine, but what it means, I do not know." Everyone stared and many shifted uncomfortably at his words. They did nothing to drive of the suspicions of the other gods, but what else could be said? Herobrine trusted that none of them would act irrationally.

"Herobrine." Notch's voice was soft, but commanding. Herobrine turned, and his brother gestured with his eyes to the palace looming over the garden. Herobrine nodded, understanding what he meant.

"The Gathering will now take a brief reprieve," Notch said to the rest of the circle. "Let us rest now, and consider that which has been said, and that which remains to be discussed." The other members bowed and slowly separated, going off to the private corners of the garden individually or in small groups.

Herobrine and Notch took to the air together and flew between the columns of the palace, passing through the open, airy throne room built in shining white stone and moving up the hollow center of a tower, landing softly on the floor of a small, closed-off observatory with floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a table in the center of the room, with two chairs. Notch and Herobrine sat opposite to one another, just as they had a thousand times in the past. They came here whenever they needed to speak of private matters away from the ears of all other beings.

"You worry me," Notch said. "Terrible things have been happening among mankind, and for all that this...malice... is spread, it seems to be concentrated in your realm. Even you cannot say why it is." Herobrine nodded, exhaling slowly. He hadn't realized it, but he had tensed up during the Gathering as the subtle accusations piled up. With a deliberate effort, he forced himself to relax. _Give me a reason to believe you aren't responsible, _his brother was really saying.

"You are right," Herobrine sighed. "I cannot. Can you?" Notch shook his head.

"Even I cannot locate the source, but regardless of what it is, it is strong, and it does not want to be found. Your actions have compounded the problem, brother, whatever it may be. Even now, it is not resolved."

"I know," Herobrine replied. "But I have made some improvements. Notch, I should have been able to figure this out by now if it were simply a problem among mankind, but I still find myself asking every day where this evil could have come from. There is more than meets the eye."

"So it has come to this," Notch said with a heavy sigh. "A faceless evil none can identify. What do you think?"

"I think we have a traitor," Herobrine replied, and Notch slammed a fist down on the table.

"What!"

"Hear me out first," Herobrine said quickly, raising both his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Where did mankind first learn to be wicked as so many are now? They are modeled after us. It should be against their very nature. Then there is another point- I should not have so much trouble pinpointing any source of evil, no matter how great or how insignificant. There are too many cases, too suddenly, and it is too widespread. I cannot shake the feeling that something or someone is working against us. I haven't felt this since the time Before."

Notch sat back to consider this. Herobrine's words made sense- but the idea of a traitor put him ill at ease. He remembered the days Before, too, when creation was still in its infancy and the violent warfare between the two sides of developing consciousness, the spirits of Matter and Void, was still going strong. The quiet Abstergo was the only remaining spirit of the Void from that time, having switched sides in return for keeping what remained of the emptiness of the Void. The rest had been scattered and broken up beyond the ability to regather. He thought then of the worst that could happen- a recollection of the malevolent gods of the Void, and a traitor on his own side, and quickly dashed the thought aside. He had destroyed the evil of the Void completely. It could not return.

And yet- the traitor. Herobrine's reasoning could not be denied. Still, Notch hoped that it was a traitor to something other than the temptation of the power of the Void.

"Why do you think this is?" Notch wondered aloud, trying to consider now the tactics of a hypothetical traitor. "What would motivate a god to teach sin to man?" Herobrine slowly shook his head.

"I think the first question we should be asking is who they are motivated against," he said. "There can be no doubt that there is a godly force behind the evil, else I or you would have found it, but who do they ultimately intend to harm? Mankind? Or us?"

"And why..." Notch trailed off, deep in thought. The two words summed up all he was going to say, after all. Why? Why would this be done?

In the back of Notch's mind, there was another disturbing possibility, one whispered to him by the other gods, that this evil was linked to Herobrine. Herobrine had shouted aloud many times to the wilderness how much he rued many of the decisions made by Notch, namely his gifts to mankind that closed their hearts and minds to their creator forever and incidentally gave him alone the power to read their thoughts. Herobrine had been the one to turn the tide of the wars Before using his incredible powers of deception, with enough skill to fool even Notch. Could he be using this power now?

Notch found this possibility even worse, but he didn't dare consider it any longer than he had to. It wasn't likely, after all.

"We must reconvene," Notch eventually warned, watching the play of the sunbeams on the floor. Herobrine nodded.

"They may be getting impatient now." Herobrine resigned. "Listen- I have the beginnings of a plan to find out just what this evil is, but I will need time, and most of all trust. Can you do this for me?" Notch nodded as he stood from his seat.

"You have my word, brother."

* * *

The brothers returned to the garden, and all of the gods returned to their circle one by one. There was not much left to be said, with the discomfited atmosphere still hanging heavy from earlier. It was unusually quiet when Notch finally gave the traditional farewell, and the gods began to filter away.

"I will get to the bottom of this, upon my immortal soul," Herobrine swore to the other gods. Laskig bowed farewell, and watched him go and descend back to the Overworld, keeping his smile hidden all the way.

Everything was going as planned.

"Oh, Herobrine," Laskig murmured to himself when no one else could hear, finally allowing a wicked grin to spread across his features. "Herobrine, you fool."

* * *

**Hello again, readers. Apologies once again for the late updates, mostly due to my busy schedule. As of the time of this chapter's publication, I have just finished a grueling week of rehearsal and performance with my school chorus, and this upcoming week will be just as busy with exam-taking and panicked cramming.**

**And writing.**

**This chapter I found to be a little harder than I expected, but hey, it turned out all right. I hope you don't mind my dialogue- I understand most of you out there (as far as I know) prefer my action scenes and fights. (I'll get to those. Hold tight.) **

**One thing I would like to announce: The official beginning of the Ender Wars is near. Very near. I'll let you know when it comes. (I also understand that most of you out there have been dying to know WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED during the Ender Wars.) **

**If you enjoyed this content, leave a REVIEW. If you hated it,... still leave one. Let me know how I'm doing, and what you would like to see. How much do you want me to explain? (I know I just added a million new questions to your list...) If you would like to see more where this came from, leave a LIKE and a FOLLOW, and I will see you next week!**


	8. Darkness Falls

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter Seven: Darkness Falls  
_

The base of Laskig's skull-topped scepter struck the stone tiles with a sharp_ crack_, awakening Herobrine from his ruminations. Herobrine glanced up and sat straight up, rigid. Before him, at the entrance to the grand hall of the throne room, stood the god of dreams, leaning on his three-foot scepter with both hands folded on the smooth top of its miniature carved skull.

Surreptitiously, Herobrine glanced around the throne and out the window, checking the hour by the stars. Past midnight. Everyone except the night watch was asleep in the city.

"Do you not have duties to attend to, Laskig of Dreams?" Herobrine asked sourly. The events of the past days had taken their toll on his mood, with many accusations and threats made for problems that were not his fault. He still sensed that a traitor lurked among the gods- all more acutely now- but his investigations had turned up frustratingly little. For once, he felt that he was outmatched.

Only one thing was clear: Something out there had evil intent, and it was now being directed specifically against him. And his people would suffer for it if he did not uncover it soon.

They were the weapon being used against him now, after all.

Not a day went by that he wasn't accused of some form of tyranny or injustice by the Council. There were people in the city that remembered Ari, the late thief and murderer that Herobrine had personally executed, as a hero. People saw Herobrine, by contrast, as a domineering king that held them enslaved, and they could only be free and happy if he were overthrown.

It disturbed Herobrine to think about where they had gotten this idea.

"The sleep of this hour is a dreamless one," Laskig replied, approaching the throne. His scepter tapped evenly in time with his stride on the stone floor, the sound sharp and loud in the dim darkness.

"Then why are you here?" Herobrine muttered. He didn't like being caught dozing. The presence of the lesser god at this hour rankled him.

"I am here," Laskig smoothly answered, "to inquire about the unusual fears I have encountered on my nocturnal rounds."

"Don't flatter yourself," Herobrine snapped. "You come to make the same accusations everyone else has since the Gathering." Immediately, he regretted those words. Biting the inside of his cheek, he looked away. Laskig stiffened, but did not retaliate.

"On the contrary," he said, his voice calm and soothing, "I want to dispel any prejudices I may have gained from the Gathering. May I at least explain myself first?" He bit of his words on the last question, his voice tightening. Herobrine knew he had insulted Laskig, and told himself to be more careful about his words. Sluggishly, he made an affirmative gesture to Laskig with one hand, and rubbed his aching temple with the other.

"The dreams of late have been dark and fearful," said Laskig. "Some have dreamed of you directly, most have dreamed of your monsters. They fear the night, and they blame you. I have tried to affix their desires to their dreams rather than their fears, send them dreams of beauty, but..." Laskig trailed off, politely leaving the unnecessary unsaid. "What my scepter has shown me little better. As you know, it-"

"It shows you an individual's greatest desires, I know." Herobrine interrupted. "I'm the one that gave it to you."

"Yes, well, the desires are changing." Laskig continued. "They are unclear. More importantly, they are more violent. Men do not believe they must earn their desires. They believe they must wrest them from others."

Herobrine looked Laskig in the eye, but he saw no lies. He expected none- Laskig's words confirmed his own knowledge.

"I cannot tell you more than you already know." Herobrine said with a sigh. "I am just as befuddled as you are on this. Tell me, can your dreams affect their fears and desires?"

Laskig shook his head. "Dreams reflect what is already there."

Herobrine narrowed his eyes. He sensed that Laskig had just avoided answering his question directly, to avoid being caught lying outright.

Laskig was hiding something. Prudently, he avoided pointing this out and pretended that he hadn't noticed.

"I just want to know," Laskig continued, "Is there anything you could have done to affect them so? It is worrying."

"I have done nothing!" Herobrine snarled, rising suddenly from the throne. "My every action has had reasonable cause. My every thought has been for the good of mankind. The troubles of mankind are my troubles. No action of mine will do them harm. I am their creator." Laskig had taken a half-step backwards at the outburst. Now he quickly stepped towards the dais again.

"Yet their dreams-"

"Their dreams!" Herobrine spat. "Their dreams are but a reflection of their _perception_ of reality. Their perceptions are the one thing I cannot control!" He broke off suddenly with a huff and turned around, facing the windows behind the throne. When he spoke again, his voice nearly cracked. "For mercy's sake, do none of you understand?" He slowly turned to face Laskig again, his expression closed. "I and my brother are creators. The origin of our universe. And don't you doubt either of us when we say this universe is our life. I will clear the air now- I do not play games with my creation. I do not flirt with disaster and I do _not _deceive my comrades or my subjects. Listen to me- I will do _anything_ to protect my people."

Laskig blinked several times and glanced between Herobrine and the throne, his fingers shuffling in a little dance across the smooth surface of the skull. The jewels inset on the eye sockets flashed in the light from the windows.

"Why?" he asked. "Why so much?"

"Because they are my people," Herobrine replied, sitting down again, "and I love them."

Laskig heaved a sigh and picked up his scepter, swinging it in one hand.

"I suppose there are no other questions I could ask you after that," he said, shaking his head. "I believe you."

Herobrine said nothing as the lesser god strode out of the throne room and let the doors shut after him. He folded his hands before his face, contemplating the last conversation. There was something strange about this one, as opposed to the other conversations he had had with the other gods, but it was something he just couldn't put his finger on. Blaming his drowsiness, Herobrine sat back and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts settle once more.

He could contemplate this in more detail in the morning.

Laskig smiled to himself as he left, flying back to his newly established headquarters at the end of the world. He kissed the skull on his scepter, and the eyes flashed again. The power the Thing had given him was great indeed, allowing him to improve on such small tools as this one. Herobrine had given him the scepter as a tool for his duties as the Lord of Dreams, and now he used it to wield a part of the Thing's power. Once it allowed him to see a human's greatest desire. Now he could use it to see their greatest fear as well, and he used it well to produce nightmares of the most terrifying kind.

He could also use it to see the greatest fear and desire of gods, Herobrine included. The little conversation had given him access to more than Herobrine had bargained for, Laskig thought. Now he knew what he needed to take the powerful Creator God down.

It was time to declare war.

* * *

Unaware of Laskig's sinister plans for them, Jonas's family lived happily on their homestead outside the city.

Lydia wrote eagerly of her accomplishments when she turned nineteen. Her diary was filled with her overflowing joy at receiving her Ranger's badge at last, making her a full-fledged ranger. Drayda had heckled Jonas that day, recalling all to clearly his disapproval of her becoming a ranger.

"Look at her now!" she said proudly, hands on her hips. "She makes me remember why I took up my own ranger badge again!"

Jonas had been quiet, but at the end of the day, he pulled Lydia aside and expressed to her how proud of her he was, and asked her to take care of herself on her new career. With tears in her eyes, Lydia promised she would.

Then the entire family came home to have one last dinner together before Lydia left home for the season. Alayne and Drayda embraced as the father, daughter, and old ranger came in the door, and Hanna nearly bowled Lydia over in a fierce hug. The twelve-year-old was still small, but deceptively strong for her age.

Laughing, Lydia pried her sister off of her and eased in past her mother and former apprentice master, stumbling when Hanna took her hand and dragged her along after her to the kitchen. Hanna gave her a look that Lydia knew well from all of her past visits over the last three years- it meant Hanna wanted stories. Digging around in her pack, Lydia drew out her green leather-bound diary, flipping to the first entries since her last visit.

"How long have you had that?" Hanna asked. Lydia looked up.

"Oh, twelve years or so. I got it on my seventh birthday."

"How do you remember?" Hanna asked, suspicious.

"It was the year you were born," Lydia answered. "I have it written in here, you know. It was just a week after I had gotten this diary." Hanna nodded eagerly.

"That was when you met Herobrine for the first time. I remember now!" Hanna said, savoring the memory of the stories her sister used to tell her of the god. She remembered when she first met Herobrine as well, but the memory was hazier. She had been very young then, and the day had ended in fear. She could barely remember life back in Luminara now. "Now can you tell me about your work?"

Lydia heaved a mock sigh.

"_Okaaay,_" she whined, flipping back to the proper entry slowly enough to make her sister squawk at her with impatience.

"Aw, Lydia! Come on!"

Laughter emitted from the family room, and Drayda limped in, taking a seat at the table next to Hanna. "Can't wait to hear her side of the story, can you?" she asked her, and Hanna nodded vigorously. "Wait until you hear mine. Remember when we were crossing ice last spring, Lydia?" Lydia looked up from her diary, a sinking feeling in her gut. Drayda was generally a warm-hearted person, but she knew how to tell the most embarrassing stories.

Especially about Lydia, or so it seemed to her.

"I remember," Lydia countered. "I slipped and fell through a patch of thin ice, but then a zombie came out from behind a tree while you were laughing at me with everyone else and your horse crow-hopped."

"I remember staying on, thank you," Drayda argued, but Lydia grinned wickedly.

"Yes, you did. But it took some effort, and you were howling at the rest of us while hanging sideways off the saddle."

Hanna covered her face with both hands and laughed helplessly. Drayda looked over, frowned, and roughly ruffled the twelve-year-old's hair.

"Laugh it up," she growled. "You try keeping on a panicking horse with a bad leg." She sounded hurt, but Lydia saw the twinkle in her eye. Drayda was one that could take a joke.

Drayda and Lydia's family exchanged stories as they lounged about later that night after dinner, cradling mugs of Alayne's mulled cider from the orchard outside. They were in Alayne's sister's old house, which had been given to Alayne when her sister, Isabelle, left for a growing kingdom to the south, leaving the house vacant for a time. The family had been living here happily for eight years, giving Hanna plenty of space out of doors to grow up and when the time came, Alayne and Jonas a nice, comfortable place to grow old.

Lydia was about to open her mouth to say something when Drayda stood, listening. Lydia caught on and listened too, sorting out the natural sounds of the surrounding forest and the creaking of the house to find something foreign- distant shouting. She looked up at Drayda.

"What's going on?" she asked, with a sense of dread. Drayda shook her head.

"Nothing good. Come with me."

The rest of the family watched them as they picked up their swords and bows and went outside to investigate. Hanna sprang out of her seat, tugging on Lydia's sleeve.

"Stay here," she said sharply, and Hanna stopped and backed away.

It was a cool autumn night outside, with a steady breeze blowing in from the hills to the north. Lydia stopped and listened again, ears pricked up, and was able to make out the sounds of fighting. She recognized the voice of one of the rangers of her party.

"Baulder!" she exclaimed, looking to Drayda. The old ranger stood stiffly, still listening to the sounds on the wind.

"It's coming this way," she said, her voice soft. "We have to get ready. Now." Lydia nodded and rushed back inside to warn her family. Drayda drew her sword and jogged towards the source of the sound, hoping to get a clearer view of the situation. "I have a bad feeling about this," she muttered.

Lydia burst back in the door and went straight to the family room.

"There's fighting going on out there. It's headed this way, and some of my party are out there." she said. Alayne stood suddenly.

"Fighting, coming here, towards the house?"

"Yes."

Alayne swallowed, looking at her two daughters. "I need to get my weapons." Her voice was cold, regaining some of its old steel from her ranger days. She was younger than Drayda, but unlike the older ranger, she had retired permanently to raise her children. Drayda was childless. Still, she never let go of her old skills. Lydia let her pass to go up the stairs and retrieve her sword and bow from her chest in her room.

"LYDIA!"

Lydia rushed outside as Drayda roared her name, and the old ranger nearly ran her down as she came back to the house at full tilt and out of breath.

"What's the situation?" Lydia demanded. Drayda paused long enough to regain a lungfull of air.

"Brigands. Dozens of them. It's a whole pack on the run, and judging from their arms and the condition of their mounts, they've come all the way from Luminara. Their horses are foaming."

Lydia cringed. That meant that they had been galloping for hours and hours on end, with no breaks. These were desperate and cruel men they were up against. "What about the others in our party?"

"Most of them dead," Drayda said, her voice flat. "We have to get down there."

Lydia gasped and paled, but nodded nonetheless. She unslung her bow from her shoulder and went to her mount, a dappled gray mare, and rode with Drayda off of her family's property and downhill to where the fighting could be heard.

Drayda hadn't been exaggerating. There were indeed at least a score of men, fighting hard against a tight group of four rangers. Six others in ranger uniform lay unmoving on the ground, side-by-side with a dozen others in the random array of rags and finery that thieves wore. Lydia checked the sky quickly- it wasn't full dark yet. The monsters wouldn't start to appear until it was. They had to hold them until then.

"We have to keep them stalled until nightfall!" she shouted to Drayda as they rode, and Drayda nodded.

"That's what I was thinking."

The two rangers reigned in their horses and nocked arrows, sending a twin volley at the bandits. Two of them were struck and fell. They sent more volleys in, until arrows flew back at them in response. One arrow nearly hit Drayda, and another hit Lydia's horse, striking it in the foreleg. Her horse shied back and reared, prancing from the pain, and Lydia fought to stay mounted.

Drayda, thinking fast, pulled her horn from her belt and blew, calling the surviving rangers up to rally around her. In unison, they turned and ran, pursued by the bandits fiercely. One saw Lydia and attacked, sending her horse panicking again. Lydia was thrown from the saddle, and she hit the ground and rolled, tossing her bow aside as she fell to save it.

The world swooped as she tried to regain her feet, and she realized she had hit her head.

Drayda's arrow killed the bandit where he stood ready to attack, leaving Lydia looking around for another opponent. She met eyes with Drayda, and they exchanged a nod. But then Lydia saw a party of bandits slip past the rangers and run for the light coming from the top of the hill- and her house.

"NO!" she screamed, tearing after the bandits. They reached the house first, and began to break down the door that Alayne had barricaded against them. Lydia drew her sword and attacked the nearest one, tearing his hamstrings before swinging hard enough to sever his spine near the base of his skull. He fell to the ground, quite dead.

The other two took no notice of her and succeeded in breaking down the door.

Alayne was waiting inside.

While Jonas took Hanna to safety upstairs, Alayne attacked the first bandit in the door with such ferocity that he never stood a chance. His blade was knocked away, and he fell to the ground an instant later, choking on his own blood. The second was close behind, but she met his attacks head on, ending up in a blade-lock with him and struggling to keep control.

But just as Lydia was coming through the broken door to help, a bowstring twanged from the doorway to the foyer, just behind Alayne.

Lydia saw Alayne's face contort into a look of blank shock, and stiffen. She was pushed back by the attacking bandit, who was quick to press his advantage, but Lydia had buried her sword into his back before he could harm her mother.

That was when Lydia saw the arrowhead glistening red from the front of Alayne's chest.

"Mother!" she gasped, grabbing her shoulder before she fell to the floor, helping her down to a sitting position. Someone swore from the doorway.

Lydia looked up and saw the archer fumbling with the arrow he had dropped and reacted without thinking. She ran the three steps it took to reach him and swung her sword over and over. The first swing he evaded, but it sheared through his bowstring. The second swing caught him in the leg, bringing him to his knees.

The third swing ended his life.

Gasping, shuddering from the effort, Lydia straightened and looked around, hearing the groans of zombies outside at last. Bandits screamed outside as they were eaten by undead corpses and skeletons, killed by Herobrine's terrible new creation.

Lydia had never been so glad to see the monsters.

Sensing that the danger had passed, she put down her sword and ran back into the foyer to her mother, who was coughing weakly, blood coming up. Her hands shook as she pulled a wad of bandages from her belt pouch and pressed them to the wound around the arrow. She knew what something this bad meant.

Alayne was fading fast.

"Father!" she shouted. "Father, get down here!"

Jonas heard Lydia's call and knew before he even came into the foyer it was bad. Lydia never, ever called him 'father' unless she was either angry or afraid.

He saw his wife bleeding out on the floor and rushed to her side.

"Oh, Notch, Alayne!" he breathed, his voice choked. Lydia checked her mother's pulse- it was fading. It was then that she knew exactly where the arrow had struck.

Alayne coughed again once and looked between her husband and daughter. _I love you, _she mouthed, but she couldn't breathe in again. She struggled for several moments, but then another shudder wracked her body. The pulse vanished under Lydia's fingertips.

Shocked, she slowly stumbled to her feet, dropping the blood-soaked bandages and looking out the door, where Drayda and the remnants of her party were coming. There were three with Drayda.

Just three.

Lydia turned around again, watching her father cradle Alayne in his arms, weeping softly.

Rage welled up in her heart, and she screamed.

* * *

Herobrine jerked awake from his meditations, feeling the distress in the north. Terrible things were happening there.

Quickly, he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses across the world, trying to pinpoint the distress.

Malice.

Herobrine's eyes snapped open when he saw what was happening. All across the world, violence was happening between humans. Every criminal, every den of thieves, every band of brigands was attacking this night. Whoever it was that was working against him had at last forsaken their hidden webs of plots and trickery and begun to battle outright.

Thousands of innocents had been slain.

A black rage began to build in Herobrine's chest, one that bubbled up from deep within and crackled through his entire body. Taking a deep breath, Herobrine left his throne and began to walk out of Kingshall, blowing the doors open before him. The wind picked up outside, making the trees dance wildly and the buildings within the city creak.

Then his control snapped.

Herobrine shot into the sky, aiming for the clouds that were beginning to gather above for an early snowstorm.

He would give them more than that.

A terrible cry tore from Herobrine's heart, and the sound exploded across the skies with a brilliant burst of light. Clouds condensed and blackened, and began to swirl around the god. The storm clouds spread across the entire world, blocking out the light of the moon and stars, rotating on the high winds. Thunder rolled, but it was a small sound against the cry of Herobrine. Lightning flashed again and again, and there was a sound like the scream of metal ripping.

The storm unleashed its fury.

The winds blew hard enough to flatten trees and drive them into stone. Hail began to fall, hard enough to shatter glass and knock men to the ground. Luminara slept safely in the eye of the storm, but all people outside not wearing Herobrine's symbol were swept about by the fury of the storm. For three days it raged, blacking out the sky completely and allowing the monsters of the night to wander unchecked, destroying everything in their path.

Even Laskig was not safe.

He was nearly back to his mountain home when the storm reached him, and sent him careening into the side of the peak, the winds flattening him against the stone. He struggled, hand over hand, up to the mouth of the chute that led to his headquarters, and only just caught himself at the bottom from a wild free-fall. Shaking himself at the bottom, he transformed into his natural form and looked up at the black skies above through the chute.

"So you do hear their cries, Herobrine," he muttered, glancing at his skull-topped scepter resting in the corner. Despite his many bruises, he smiled broadly.

"So this is how you react." He was nearly laughing now. "This is too easy! So this is how you face your loss!" He quieted down after a few careful breaths and a firm reminder to himself not to get carried away.

Still, the smile never really faded.

"So you hear the cries of your most desired, Herobrine," he mused. "I wonder how you will face your fear next."

At that, Laskig turned away and began to make preparations for his next step.

* * *

***crawls out of the wreckage***

**Now that that's over, I guess I had better explain myself. I have been out sick for a while (check my profile for more on that..) but I'm back! And I'm writing. **

**Boy am I writing. **

**Just you wait- I have more updates prepared for the holidays. As promised, this is part of the double update as my (late) Christmas present to my _darling _readers, and for New Years Eve and New Years Day, I will post more updates on all my active stories. Writing bonanza declared! **

**Was this a fun new chapter or what? Danger is stirring- big time. The enemy has made his move, and Herobrine had better get his act together or he will be in trouble! And the biggest event of the entire story- take three guesses as to what that is: Starts with Ender, ends with War- is almost here! Tension is building up!**

**And it's about to break loose, so I suggest you duck.**

**Did you enjoy this chapter? If so, leave a REVIEW to show your support and give your opinion, and if you want more where this came from, leave a FAVORITE and/or FOLLOW to keep up with the action. **

**Huntress out. **


	9. War Overture

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART ONE: OUT OF THE GOLDEN CITY

_Chapter Eight: War Overture  
_

**Year 268 F.E. (First Era)  
**

There was just one entry for this entire year in the green diary.

Lydia's twentieth birthday came and went uncelebrated. Her family was broken, and her house no longer a home. The snows piled deep that winter, and when they finally cleared, she made the choice to move her family out of the kingdom. It wasn't easy- Jonas couldn't bring himself to leave the house, for it was where Alayne was buried. But Lydia was adamant, and so that summer, the family began to move to a small neighboring kingdom known as Arrenvale.

Her faith had fallen with her mother. Herobrine could no longer protect them.

She made this choice after one last event made her lose not only her faith, but any hope for her country. That day, she abandoned her badge, knowing she could do no more to help anyone at all.

When unrest began in Luminara again, Lydia was called in to help keep the peace with the city guard. Drayda was as well, and the two rangers helped keep shield barriers up around Kingshall, where Herobrine and the city's Council had taken shelter. Monsters came up into the streets, attacking innocent people at night. The unrest got even worse after that- Herobrine had sworn to keep the monsters away from innocent people. While Lydia helped to keep the zombies out of the houses, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle up.

Turning, she saw a tall, purple-eyed being standing atop the house across the street, watching her. The sight of the creature gave her unpleasant chills, and she had a bad feeling about it. Resting with her former craft master one night in the ranger camp outside the walls, she asked Drayda what it was.

"I'm not sure," Drayda had answered. "I've seen a few myself, but I don't know what they are. Or what they're for. All they do is watch."

Lydia heard from other people similar reports of these Watchers, as someone else had nicknamed them. She gathered that they were usually only seen where there was trouble, so it was best to avoid them.

The unrest broke out into violence in the streets the next morning. A peaceful protest had turned sour quickly, and the situation was rapidly deteriorating. The rangers were brought in again, to keep up the shield wall around places and people of importance. But just as the crowd was beginning to die down, a cry went up like Lydia had never heard before. That was when the riot truly began, the worst Luminara had ever seen in its history.

Lydia thought she saw dark shapes moving with the shadows of the crowd, but she blinked and shook her head, bracing herself behind the riot shields with everyone else.

At sunset, the shield walls went down.

Drayda saw the makeshift battering rams coming in the crowd from above on her mount and ordered her own to retreat quickly, pulling the heavy wooden shield with them to negate the impact. The others were not so lucky. Tables, tree trunks, and other weapons smashed into the barriers and broke the shield wall completely.

Lydia fell and was pinned by the trailing edge of the wooden barrier she and the rangers had been carrying, her legs caught below the calf by the ten-block-long riot shield. By some miracle, the corner caught on the end of a low garden wall on the side of the street, so the solid wood didn't break her legs. Levering herself sideways, she worked herself free and prepared to run. The crowd hadn't reached her- yet.

Drayda reached her first.

"Get out of here!" she shouted into Lydia's ear. "The city is shutting down! Run while you still can!" With a hard shove to her former apprentice, Drayda vanished into the crowd.

Lydia never saw her again after that day.

She fled, moving down side streets and alleys until she got to the west gates, left abandoned by the guards for the riot. Her heart burned with anger, first at herself for running, and second at Herobrine for allowing things to fall this far. She could no longer trust the god. Third, for the people responsible in the first place.

Mounting her horse at the encampment, Lydia slapped the reigns and galloped out of Luminara, making the decision then to never return. She would convince her father and sister to move with her, away from the violence and fear. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far, far away.

She galloped out of the golden city and into the night.

* * *

**Present Day**

_The priest was hard at work again in his makeshift tent study, glancing up at the snow outside his window every now and again and giving it a baleful glare. _

_The_ Chronicle _was coming together beautifully, and he was just finishing the final chapter to the golden age of human history. Referring back to the green diary now and again, he wrote fast and carefully on the clean white pages of the codex. There was just one more page to go. _

That night was the beginning of the end, _he wrote, _of a long era of majesty and wonder.

The people of the Overworld rose up against their creator, resisting their vice no longer.

Many Watchers were seen in the Golden City, the creatures of the End, watching the violence and affecting nothing in their silence. The mighty Herobrine fought for the souls of his people, but it was to no avail. All that were good were slain or fled, and all that were evil were victorious. The battle raged, between God and Man, for the fate of the Overworld and its people.

Dark forces gathered about the city, and Luminara's light was broken. Herobrine's hand was forced, and he locked down the city. For the years that followed, he became the tyrant that his people feared most to protect them. He dispelled the Council and took the throne for his own in reality, enforcing his laws ruthlessly and making no allowances. All the while, he was seldom seen. Only in his throne hall could he be approached, and for a time following, he was nowhere to be found. Yet he was always watching.

An estrangement began between the two Creators, as had never happened before. Seldom did they speak, and they trusted one another no longer. For the Elder denounced the harshness of the Younger, and the Younger denounced the inaction of the Elder. The brothers were divided on all, and that division reflected in the Overworld.

Mankind, too, divided. All the rogue kingdoms outside the long reach of Luminara declared independence. Wars were fought and settled, and new kings were crowned. One by one, all fell away from the guidance of Herobrine and turned to themselves, refusing to pay homage to the Creator.

But when this was done, the Watchers were no longer silent. Their battle cry could be heard across the Overworld, and the attack began. Only in Luminara were they silent, and no violence was made. But beyond the reach of Herobrine, many thousands began to die at the claws of the Watchers.

Dark forces had gathered, and now war was declared. It was the overture to the greatest tragedy the Overworld had ever known, and many pieces began to fall into place as if by a sinister plot. Divided were Men, and divided were Gods. Helpless, then, were the innocent, and out of control were the wicked.

Upon the fifteenth day of winter, the sun never rose. All day, the skies were dark and starless, without even a moon, and by night, the moon rose at last, dark and lightless. When the light returned at last, Herobrine was gone from his place in Kingshall, and the Watchers were no longer silent.

Thus began the Ender Wars.

_Putting away his quill, the priest shook his hands loosely by the wrists and stood up, stretching his legs. It was finished- the first part, at least. He felt that there were pieces missing from the puzzle of his history, but he would have time to reflect on those later. In the morning, he would at last reach the village where Corren, the former prince of Arrenvale lived. Perhaps he would have the missing parts. _

_Putting away the quill and codex, the priest prepared for bed._

* * *

**Happy New Year!  
**

**Well, I was planning on posting this on New Year's Eve, but that didn't happen at all. My excuse is on my profile: An unexpected change of plans had me out of town for the time I was intending to use writing and publishing, but hey. I updated today, and I'll update again soon. I mean it. I mean it in the I'll-update-in-three-days-or-less sense of soon. **

**Sorry about the jerkiness- this was supposed to be a short chapter anyway, since this is (obviously) the wrap-up to something big. **

**Like all of the time before the Ender Wars, for instance. **

**So I'm back- show some appreciation with a REVIEW if you enjoyed this update, or this story in general, and if you would like to see more where that came from, well- You know what to do. I've typed this message a million times now. **

**See you again soon in the next installment of Chronicle! **

**Huntress out.**


	10. Final Parting

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Nine: Final Parting_

Laskig fell to his knees with a cry, clutching his pounding head with both hands.

_**I want HIM! **_the Thing roared, the telepathic voice ripping through Laskig's thoughts even in the Overworld. Laskig jerked hard enough to nearly bite his tongue when the voice hit him again.

"I'm working as fast as I can!" Laskig cried out against the pain. Another growl roiled through his thoughts.

**_Deliver Him to me. I want His soul. _**

"You will have it." Laskig felt the pain deepening, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to hold in a whimper of pain. "I will give Him over to you. But first I must bring Him down!" The pressure began to ease.

**_Do you require more power? _**

That was a weighted question. It could be interpreted two ways: An honest question, of whether Laskig was strong enough to take down his quarry, and whether Laskig was growing greedy for power and trying to trick the Thing that he served. Laskig took a gamble, telling the truth.

"I do not know if I am strong enough now," he answered, "But I will try. When I need more power, I will ask."

That seemed to satisfy the Thing.

**_You have until midwinter in your world to complete your task. I will give you what you need to complete it. _**

"Thank you," Laskig breathed, struggling to his feet. "I will not fail you." The presence of the Thing began to retreat, moving back through the End portal.

**_You had better not._**

The presence vanished. With a sigh, Laskig straightened and went over his preparations. A small part of him felt a tinge of bitter regret for making the deal with the Thing, but he quickly shook his head and pushed the thought away. In the end, he could best the beast. Right now, he needed it as a tool to reach his own goals.

And if Herobrine's soul was the price for his power, he would gladly pay it.

* * *

The two brothers of Creation were closer than root and tree. They were born twins out of the nothingness of the Void, and they had never been fully separated in all of eternity.

That is, until one fateful day.

The last riot in Luminara was Herobrine's breaking point. He shut down the city, closing its gates and locking down all nighttime activity. No one could get in or out without a pass. He dissolved the ineffective Council, and after all the time he had spent trying to allow his creation to rule itself, he claimed the throne for himself to save his creation from destroying itself.

Notch knew the pain in his brother's eyes when he saw it as he entered into the throne room at Kingshall.

Herobrine sensed the powerful presence approaching, and looked up with a start. To his shock, there stood his brother in his usual form, brown-shirted and bearded.

"Notch," he said, sitting up and getting to his feet. Notch smiled, but said nothing.

Herobrine stepped forward, coming down off the dais and striding to his brother. The two clasped hands in greeting.

"I didn't think you would ever come here," said Herobrine. Notch's smile faded for an instant.

"Is that so?" he said softly. "I needed to speak with you." Herobrine saw the change in his brother's expression and realized how serious this was.

"I understand."

Notch sighed, looking into his little brother's eyes. "What have you done, Herobrine?" Herobrine felt his brother's hand tighten around his own, holding him in place. "And do not make any excuses. You do not know what sort of trouble you're in now, among the other gods." Notch's smile was gone. Herobrine swallowed.

"You saw what happened," said Herobrine. "You saw the deaths. I know you did."

"I'm not asking about the storm alone, Herobrine."

"I had no choice!" Herobrine insisted. "Whatever it is out there, it's declared war!"

"But these people are not our pawns," Notch replied. His voice was still soft, but Herobrine could sense the anger building. "You have wronged them, now."

Herobrine jerked his arm away, stumbling back a few paces.

"I am working my hardest to protect them!" Herobrine snapped. Notch closed the distance between them with a few quick strides, grabbing handfuls of his brother's shirt and pulling him in close.

"You have them penned here like slaves!" Notch growled. "You vanish again and again to places even I cannot see. The Endermen have returned to the world, and you have been seen fraternizing with them even after they have attacked humans. What are you up to?"

"What?" Herobrine gasped as he tried to keep his balance as Notch shook him. "What do you mean, they've killed humans?" Notch shoved him backwards roughly.

"Don't tell me you didn't know!" he roared, but then he looked into Herobrine's eyes, and the new fear that blossomed there. "You really didn't know, did you?" His voice softened.

Herobrine stared at his brother in shock. Slowly, he shook his head. "How could I have been blind to this?" he whispered.

Notch took a deep breath and dropped his arms to his sides. "Let me in."

Herobrine narrowed his eyes. "What did you say?"

"Let me in! Open your mind," Notch ordered. Herobrine took another step back.

"No."

Notch was taken aback by Herobrine's answer. Never had Herobrine refused him and kept his mind closed. As often as not, the brothers communicated strictly with their thoughts, allowing their minds to pool just as they had done in the Beginning, in the moments of creation.

It made Notch immediately suspicious.

"What do you have to hide, Herobrine?" Notch's voice was venomous. Herobrine stood his ground.

"Remember the time Before, brother?" Herobrine asked, his voice low. Notch's brow furrowed. That's right, he thought. He would refuse me then, too, to protect the both of us from being taken down at once.

"Why now, Herobrine?" Notch asked in return. "What is driving you to this point?" Herobrine sighed, relaxing slightly.

"I do not yet know."

"I can help."

Herobrine shook his head. "Whatever this is, it is moving directly against me. Something out there is trying to destroy me, from the inside out. It began with my reputation- I fear it will move more deeply soon. I had a plan, but it seems it is more capable than I thought."

"A Void being?"

"With the power it has demonstrated," Herobrine replied, "I think so. We have to locate the traitor."

Notch thought carefully about what he was going to say next. He had two options- he could believe his brother, or he could believe the rest of the Aether. Herobrine said there was a traitor among the lesser gods. The other gods, they believed Herobrine was a traitor. He had believed so in the time Before, but he had been proven wrong. Yet Herobrine knew better than to use the same tactics twice to defeat the same enemy.

What could he be up to?

"You must let me in," said Notch. "I ask only of this."

Herobrine turned away, closing his eyes. So much had gone wrong already. If the Void was after them again like he suspected, they had to separate. It was the only reason they survived the last time. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and turned to face Notch once more. Slowly, he nodded.

The barriers of his mind reluctantly fell.

Immediately, the blinding presence of his brother's mind rushed in, briefly filling his thoughts with light. Herobrine quickly clamped down on his own streams of thought, keeping them separate and his own.

_Why do you pull back? _That was Notch speaking to him.

_There are some things you must not see. _

_Why?_

_You remember why._

A ripple of frustration passed across Herobrine's mind from Notch. He knew his brother was able to tell he was blocking some things off, but he had to nonetheless. In the meantime, he noticed other white blanks in Notch's mind.

Notch looked to the parts of the plans that Herobrine did reveal, and he was shocked.

_You cannot be seriously thinking of going down there! _Notch cried.

_I do not know what to do now, _Herobrine replied. He was going to visit the End, but now his brother had shown him the truth about the Endermen. It would no longer be an option to go there now. If the Endermen were enslaved, then the End may very well be the lion's den.

_Then what are you doing?_

_Rethinking. I have to see what has come over the Endermen first. _

_And then what?_

_You'll see. _

_Don't block me out now! _Notch felt Herobrine's mind slipping away from his, retracting back to itself.

"You must trust me, brother," Herobrine replied aloud. Their minds were no longer linked. Flicking his hair out of his eyes, Herobrine began to walk out of the throne room. Notch watched him with building frustration.

"Herobrine, don't turn your back on me now."

Herobrine kept walking.

"Herobrine!"

The doors boomed shut, leaving Notch alone in an empty hall.

* * *

Herobrine ran through the silent forest, using his supernatural strength to push him to impossible speeds. He wove between the trees, his gaze sweeping back and forth in search of any sign of the Endermen.

He had to find out where their loyalties were.

A flash of purple appeared before him. Slowing to a halt, he stopped just before a group of three Endermen, looking down at him with their icy lavender eyes.

"I wish to have a word with you," said Herobrine. One of the Endermen bowed and approached him. Reaching out with his mind, Herobrine linked himself telepathically with the mute beast.

_What is it you wish to speak of?_

"Your kind have taken human lives." It was not a question. It was a blunt fact, aimed as a sharp accusation. The Enderman bowed once more.

_We have._

Herobrine blinked at the abrupt honesty of the creature. "Why?" he demanded. "Why have you been killing my creation?"

_Did you not know? We thought you were thinking the same as we- Humans have become a disease to this world. They must be eliminated. _

"Absolutely not!" Herobrine cried. "What made you think this? How dare you kill my people!" The Enderman took a respectful pace backwards and inclined its head.

_But it is true! You have seen them yourself as they wage wars and destroy all that is dear. They will destroy their own realm._

"You are wrong." Herobrine hissed. "And you have overstepped your boundaries. You have interfered where you have no right!"

_But we do. We are the protectors of the realms still in their growing pains. We ensure their survival- and it may come at a cost. _

"I say you do not!" Herobrine snarled. "I am a creator! You are to go back to your realm and never return."

_We cannot, for you are not he that can give us orders._

Suddenly, Herobrine heard another voice in his thoughts, one that sounded distant and strained.

_Beware, Herobrine! Do not trust them, for they twist their words! They serve the shadowy one!_

Then the voice was cut off. The other Endermen looked up, as if they had heard it too.

_Who was that? _the Enderman asked. Herobrine scowled at it.

"None of your concern. Who do you serve?"

The Enderman was silent.

"Answer me!"

Slowly, the Enderman smiled. It was a strange, bestial smile with black teeth that shone in the starlight. It remained silent, but Herobrine saw the muscles bunch up as it prepared to attack. The Enderman slashed at him, and he slapped the clawed hand aside and kicked it to the ground. The Enderman cried out in surprise and did not get up.

_So you do defy. But this realm must be saved from mankind. _

"No!" Herobrine roared. "Go back to the End!"

_We will NOT. _

The others slowly approached him, claws splayed and ready. Herobrine looked up, and drew his pick from his inventory.

The situation had changed, indeed.

* * *

Herobrine did not run back to Luminara.

He flew.

Dropping from the skies, he landed hard on the cobblestone street and ran into Kingshall, throwing open the doors to the throne room. If there was ever a time he needed Notch, it was now.

But Notch was gone.

"Notch!" Herobrine shouted, reaching out in all directions with his mind. His brother was nowhere to be found. He thrust his power upwards, hard enough so that he could be heard in the Aether.

"Notch!"

There was no reply. He shouted his brother's name again and again, but there was nothing but silence. He had to get his brother to listen to him, just this once. He had seen something, just a glimpse, in the minds of the Endermen that he could not ignore.

"NOTCH!"

Silence.

Herobrine fell to the floor, gasping. The effort had strained his abilities to the maximum, and yet his brother did not return his calls. He knew he could hear him. Why did he not answer?

With this troubling thought in mind, Herobrine struggled to his feet. His thoughts were racing. He knew where the Void enemy was, but now more than ever, he needed to locate the traitor. He couldn't maneuver with a rogue power at his back, shadowing his every move. He needed to plan. Most of all, he needed his brother's help.

But it seemed he was on his own, now.

From above Kingshall, Laskig chuckled to himself. The power of the Thing was glorious! Herobrine had put every ounce of power into his cry for help, but he had been able to turn back all of it! Notch would never hear him, now! Not while he had the upper hand.

It was time to test Herobrine's power. Properly.

Then he would be ripe for the taking.

* * *

**Hello again, my loyal readers! **

**DUN DUN DUUUN! Don't you love it now? Something's going down! Something big! But what? What is Laskig planning? He's stronger than ever, you know, and Herobrine still doesn't know he's the one. And what did Herobrine see? Let's hope it's enough- he's got to catch up with an enemy ten steps ahead of him if he hopes to get out of this alive. **

**Ahh, the perks of being an author. This is fun. **

**Now that I have given you my promised update and all its inescapable tension-filled cliffhangers, why don't you follow the usual drill of... well, you know. (REVIEW if you enjoyed and all that...) See you next update!  
**

**Huntress out.**


	11. The Invitation

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Ten: The Invitation  
_

**Year 266 F.E. (First Era)**

Time, to the gods, is irrelevant.

When one refers to a 'short while', it could mean a time period from a few seconds in length to a number of decades. Gods are capable of waiting for centuries for their desired results or making them happen in a fraction of a second. Even to the least of gods, time is not a worry for them in their immortality, as it is to mortal humans.

Thus the war went between Laskig and Herobrine. Laskig went into hiding once more after he succeeded in tearing the rift between the creators, coming out only to make small disturbances here and there. Herobrine, on the other hand, worked tirelessly to find the traitor among the gods and find a way to save his people from the madness the war would bring on. All the while, Luminara remained in a police state, and its people lived in fear.

For Laskig, it meant Herobrine was doing his work for him.

So, for the six years leading up to Laskig's charge from the Void god, the situation between Herobrine and Laskig remained almost unchanged, with Laskig simply lying in wait for the proper chance to make another strike to fully test the lesser Creator god's power.

For Jonas's family, things could not have been more different.

Lydia and Jonas became estranged, disagreeing on many things. Lydia argued that they must move as far away from Luminara as possible, for Herobrine could no longer protect them, but Jonas, being a staunch believer in Herobrine, adamantly refused to go. Hanna loved her sister and father dearly, but she was often caught in the crossfire for her inability to take sides. She had only met Herobrine once, when she was four years old, and her memories of the experience were fuzzy and distant.

When the snows cleared when Hanna was approaching thirteen, Lydia made her decision. She would take Hanna with her to Arrenvale, a nation that had recently declared independence from Luminara's central rule and Herobrine's tyranny. She had a connection to the royal family through one of her companions from her days as a ranger, and accommodations were already set up. All that remained was to pack up and leave.

Lydia was beyond listening to her father now.

Jonas, with his wife gone and his daughters leaving for another nation, had few places left to turn. Alone, running out of money, and desperate for distraction, he turned to the one thing he yet knew how to do.

Build.

South of Luminara, a new temple was being added to. The two shrines to Herobrine and Notch were being given full sanctuaries, and a library and university were to be added. Packing up his things, and giving Alayne's grave one last farewell, Jonas left for the mountains of the south, where a master architect was needed.

The father and daughters did not see one another for many years thereafter.

* * *

Richard, dauphin of Arrenvale, proposed to Lydia's little sister on her eighteenth birthday.

Lydia, who was out riding in the forest that afternoon, came galloping back as soon as the page sent by her sister reached her, and burst through the doors of the solar wearing an expression that would send rocks running for cover. Richard and Hanna had been sitting almost in each other's laps on the loveseat before the fireplace, but Hanna stood up with a start when Lydia stormed in. Richard looked up, swallowed, and stumbled to his feet after her.

Lydia stopped before the fiances and crossed her arms, looking between her sister and the crown prince.

"I hear you got engaged this morning," she said, and they both nodded. "Good." Lydia roughly grabbed Richard by the collar and pulled him close.

"I will say this once and once only: You will be faithful to my sister. If I hear of any mistreatment or a single word from you that is not selflessly loving towards her, I don't care if I have to commit high treason to do it, I will kill you myself. Is that clear?"

Richard swallowed again and nodded, glancing sideways at Hanna, who was caught between surprise and a silly bout of amusement.

"Lydia!" she protested, willing with all her might not to giggle. Lydia took after their mother completely, standing half a head taller than Richard and built solidly for all her slender, angular curves. Her arms were strong enough to lift Richard off the ground for their years drawing back the string of a seventy-pound bow, and she had her former master's bullheaded stubbornness. Lydia was a force to be reckoned with. Richard, on the other hand, while handsome and muscular enough for his light training with the sword and other work squires did growing up, simply wasn't a hardened, seasoned ranger. Lydia's glare didn't let up as she released his collar and let him retreat a step.

"I'm going to hold you to that, prince." Lydia spat, and then took her sister by the hand and strode out of the solar, Hanna half-running to keep up with her sister's longer stride. The only similarity she had to her mother was her dark eyes and hair- beyond that, she just wasn't very tall or strong at all.

But for all their physical differences, both girls had a strong feminine streak.

Once the solar doors had closed behind them, Hanna and Lydia exploded into squealing giggles and hugged fiercely.

"I'm so glad he finally proposed!" Lydia exclaimed. "It's about bloody time!" Hanna fought to stop laughing long enough to talk.

"Give him some credit," she shot back. "He was waiting for me to grow up a little."

"I left home at fifteen," Lydia reminded Hanna. "I consider grown-up-ness to be more than age. You two were meant for each other from the start." The sisters finally finished giggling and stood with their backs to the wall, sighing.

"Did you really mean it?" Hanna asked.

"What?"

"That you would kill him if he mistreated me."

"Oh, I meant it," Lydia said, "But I don't think I'll have to. You saw the look on his face- I think I scared him enough." Hanna covered her face and laughed helplessly.

"At least he was wise enough not to say anything- his voice would have cracked the way it always does when he's nervous. He's really got to work at that." Now it was Lydia's turn to laugh.

"Oho! I didn't know he still had that. I thought he grew out of it. Imagine him holding court like that!" Hanna's face was starting to turn red.

"I heard that," a very not-amused voice drawled from behind the solar doors. That just set the sisters off all over again. Eventually, they stumbled back into the solar, and Lydia had to try several times to wipe the grin off her face and replace it with her usual threatening scowl. Hanna went straight to Richard and pecked him on the cheek. He rolled his eyes, but Lydia could see how much he loved her sister. The two had been fast friends from the day Lydia had brought her sister to Arrenvale, and friendship had blossomed from there. It made her think of her parents- and her heart panged dully at that. She still hadn't forgotten the night her mother died, and she never would. Nor would she forget her last farewell to her father, and it wasn't a happy one.

"So, when's the wedding?" Lydia asked, and the couple looked up.

"As soon as possible. I'm thinking about two weeks from today." Richard answered.

"Two weeks!"

"I'm royalty," Richard groaned. "I wasn't betrothed at birth, so my family insists that once I'm officially engaged, we waste no time with the wedding. You know, the age-old worries about producing an heir. Everyone would rather I have a queen _before _I'm crowned."

"I see," Lydia sighed, looking away. _No wonder you waited so long to propose, _she thought. _Stars above! Hanna with children any younger? _After all, she knew, there was never a marriage day without a marriage night.

Abruptly, Lydia shook her head and looked around desperately for a distraction, repeating over and over in her head _that's not my business, that's not my business... _

"Well," she said, looking back at her sister, "Happy wishes and good luck."

"Good luck?"

"She is, after all, _my _sister."

At that, Lydia left and immediately went to the stables. It would take another ride to clear her head.

* * *

Herobrine jerked awake with a cry, leaping to his feet with his chest heaving. He stood in a small chamber, cut from the solid rock deep below Kingshall. The only way in or out was by a deep shaft covered by a solid obsidian slab, leading straight down nearly to the level of the bedrock. The only illumination was a number of redstone torches on the walls, glowering dimly and throwing off the occasional spark. It was designed to be dim, plain, and without distraction.

This isolated chamber was the one and only place in the Overworld that Herobrine dared go into the trance-sleep. Gods did not sleep for rest. Usually, when they tired, they withdrew to lightly doze or to meditate. Seldom did they surrender to the dizzying darkness and uncertainty of full sleep unless they were severely weakened or in need of something else.

Herobrine only ever slept to dream.

He needed guidance, and he could only receive visions in the Overworld asleep. When he slept, while he was in the deep trance that mortals so casually entered each night, Herobrine received not the simple, mundane dreams of mortals, but visions of the past and future. He had reached out his awareness along the threads of time, and time had answered him.

It had not been pretty.

The future was filled with pain. Agony. White-hot agony, unendingly. He could not see beyond it. Notch, the Overworld, his people... all of them were gone, and all there was was the pain, filling him with madness. He could see his betrayal, his abandonment, and ultimately, his fall to a Void force, an ultimate power the likes of which he had never seen even in the era Before. Something powerful had developed in the neglect of the gods, and he had to work fast to find out what.

More importantly, he had to save himself from that wall of white. He did not entirely know what it meant, but he knew enough to realize that it was his ultimate destruction. If he did not act correctly now, he would be entirely unmade. His vision had shown him just one way out. A mortal. The face of a mortal that he remembered from those last days before the unrest began.

Lydia.

He could not see beyond the wall, but he could feel beyond it that somehow she would be part of the key to his own survival, and if he could help it, the survival of the Overworld, and even the entire universe. She, and the people around her, would save him. Bitterly, he thought of his brother's continuous refusal to answer his calls. Notch was barely featured in his vision, and his part to play could very well lead to his destruction.

Flying back up the shaft and into Kingshall once more, Herobrine uttered the spell that would mask his power and allow him to travel unnoticed by mortal and god alike. Then he made preparations to find the daughter of his old friend Jonas.

* * *

Adjusting the bodice of her peacock-blue gown, Lydia wished for the twenty-third time that night that she hadn't caved in to her sister's demand.

Lydia sat at the high table at the wedding feast in the castle's banquet hall, elbow-to-elbow with her sister and some Arrenvale dignitary to her other side. Hanna was deep in conversation with Richard, now the Grand Duke of Arrenvale rather than the prince, and Hanna the Duchess. Soon to be properly queen, Lydia thought. The old king and queen were preparing to retire from the arduous work of ruling a nation. It would only be a few more years now- they were both well into their sixties, nearly seventy. The princesses, Richard's older sisters, giggled over something from their table off to the side of the high table.

Lucky them. They could leave soon. Lydia was trapped in her seat until the newlyweds were ready to go.

Fortunately, the dessert course was almost over. Carefully lifting the last bite of her chocolate cake to her lips, trying to avoid spilling crumbs down the front of her gown, Lydia glanced surreptitiously around her and discovered to her dismay that she was the first one finished. More waiting, then. With a sigh, she put down her fork and lifted her wineglass to her lips to sip slowly. The glass had remained full for most of the evening- Lydia wasn't one with a taste for alcohol. Now she sipped carefully at the sour-sweet ruby liquid, grimacing slightly at the aftertaste.

Somehow, Hanna had convinced her to be chief bridesmaid, the Maid of Honor at the wedding. When she was first asked, Lydia had flatly refused.

"I'll look like a barbarian in those silly gowns," Lydia replied. "Besides, the place for relatives at weddings is in the pews. Friends and distant cousins serve as the witnesses."

"Please, Lydia," Hanna begged. "I can have a different gown made for you. All it has to match in is color, really."

"My answer is still no."

"Lydia."

Something in Hanna's tone gave Lydia pause. Having turned around to leave, she stopped and looked back at her sister.

"Please, Lydia. I don't want a featherbrained noble lady or one of their backstabbing handmaidens by my side tomorrow. I want you. I trust you." Her voice became very quiet. "I need you. Just you."

Lydia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Make sure the other bridesmaids are wearing tall shoes. I look like a giant next to them."

Hanna squealed in delight and attacked Lydia with a fierce hug.

Now, at the feast, Lydia set down her wineglass and anxiously watched her sister. Hanna's hand was tied to Richard with red silk chord, leaving just one hand free. She used that hand to carefully tap her empty wineglass with her spoon, filling the air with delicate chiming. The conversation in the room fell silent, and the newlyweds stood. Lydia followed their lead, and she and the other bridesmaids and the best man stood as well.

"I suppose it's been a long day for some of us," Richard began, his voice carrying through the banquet hall clearly. "Hopefully, the royal stores of wine helped to clear up any impatience."

A ripple of laughter flowed through the room.

"So," Richard continued, "Without any further ado, my new wife and I will retire for now. It has been a wonderful day, despite all the droning on the priest did this morning," Another ripple of laughter. "So I bid you all good night, and I wish to you all a season of prosperity this spring. Not only for myself, but for all people on this good earth. To the people." Richard lifted his glass in toast.

"To the people," everyone echoed, draining their wineglasses. Richard and Hanna stepped down off the high table, and Lydia followed her cue to leave as well, escaping the hall as quickly as she could. She and Hanna exchanged nods, and Hanna winked in reply, and then vanished through the door to the royal quarters.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia strode out of the hall, going straight across the courtyard as a shortcut to her lodgings near the servant's quarters.

Herobrine stood atop the courtyard walls, waiting for the blue-clad woman to pass. He was dressed entirely in black, with a black cloak over his shoulders and hood over his head. When the woman had nearly reached the gates leading back inside, he spread his arms and leaned forward, diving smoothly down off the edge of the wall and landing impossibly lightly on the grass below, safely behind a hedge of tall rosebushes.

Lydia heard something rustle in the grass and whirled around, eyes scanning the semidarkness of twilight around her. She could hear no one there, but her instincts told her otherwise. She slowly began to approach the rosebushes where she heard the sound, wishing she had a weapon on her more substantial than the knife strapped to her ankle.

Herobrine vaulted silently over the hedge just beyond her line of sight and came up behind her, tapping her shoulder. Lydia spun, fist ready, but froze at the last second.

"You," she breathed, tensing. "It's really you." A broiling mix of emotions built up inside her, something between fear, anger, and nostalgia. Herobrine took a step back, crossing his arms across his chest. He could sense the internal struggle in Lydia, and it troubled him.

"Considering who your father is, it surprises me that you of all people should be so worried to see me," he said, his voice soft. Lydia clenched her jaw and lowered her hands.

"I am my mother's daughter," Lydia replied, her voice stiff, "And she was killed by the people you promised to protect us from." Herobrine stiffened, then relaxed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Lydia thought she saw the barest glimmer of a tear threatening.

"I am sorry." Herobrine's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Why have you come here?" Lydia demanded. "Why now? After everything that has happened? I believed in you as a child. I trusted your power."

No words could have cut Herobrine more deeply. He took a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand.

"Lydia, you do not have to trust me entirely. Just believe me when I say that I was just as helpless as you. Your mother wasn't the only victim of that night. There are greater forces than any of us could have ever imagined at work here, and the war has only just begun. I need your help."

"What do you mean you need my help? I needed your help! You could have saved my brethren, the ones that wore your badge. You could have saved my mother!"

"I could _not._" Herobrine's voice changed, dropping down into a different range on the last word and sending a vague ripple of power through the air. Lydia felt that power and shuddered. Narrowing her eyes, she leveled her gaze at Herobrine, but said nothing.

Herobrine looked up at the sky for a moment, watching the stars. He would need to return soon. Looking back at Lydia, he drew a small envelope from a concealed pocket. "Come to Luminara. We can speak safely there."

Herobrine vanished into thin air, leaving the envelope fluttering down to the ground. Lydia hesitated, looking around, but the god was really gone. Slowly stepping forward, she gingerly picked up the envelope off the ground and took a closer look. It was thick, cream-white vellum tied with red satin ribbon threaded through it, and sealed in black wax. _To Lydia_, it read on the front, in flowing black script. Gripping the invitation in one hand, Lydia stalked back to her chambers, meaning to think this over for the night.

* * *

The next morning, Lydia had made up her mind. Rising early, she dressed quickly in her ranger's tunic and riding leathers, going straight to the stables to claim her horse.

"Tell my sister when she wakes up that I'm taking a trip to Luminara. Something has come up that I need to take care of." she told the groom, pressing a coin into his hand as insurance that he would. The groom bowed and strode off, letting Lydia lead her own horse out of the stables as she preferred and mount unaided.

Closing her legs and slapping the reigns, Lydia urged her horse into a hard gallop to the west, back to the golden city.

It had been a long time since she had seen her childhood home.

* * *

**Sorry I'm late getting back. Did I miss anything?**

**No? Good. **

**Okay, looks like it's officially excuse time. It wasn't sickness this time. I am sick- it's the reason I'm writing, since I'm bored out of my mind and unable to go to school. It wasn't writer's block. So...uh... (right, last one I have up my sleeve...) I was busy! Yeah, that sounds right. Busy! You know, that school-thing. **

**...Anyway,**

**At last, I have passed the point of filler- uh... _essential but apologetically long-winded plot parts _chapters, and gotten into a part where we get to see action. Aaand, you guessed it, that special little part of the story where we learn how Herobrine lost it all. This part isn't called THE FALL for nothing, after all. **

**Oh, great. I'm forecasting. Bad form. Maybe I should stop. **

**Actually, it seems like a great idea to shut up now. **

**So, on a parting note, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Review or something...if you feel like it. My constant requests, as it has come to my attention, have been bothering people. (_Shaddup. Sometimes people will review if you can just get them to remember to._) But I will say this, if you liked this, then remember that I AM NOT DONE with this story and FOLLOW it, so you never miss out on any updates. 'Nuff said. **

**Remember to tell your friends about this if you like it! I want to see how far I can go with this story, and I can't do it without you. **

**Huntress out.**


	12. Commission for Truth

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Eleven: Commission for Truth  
_

"Halt, traveler! State your business and present identification or begone!"

Lydia pulled back the reigns and let her horse slow to a stop as the guard posted on the wall above the gates leveled his bow at her. Sighing, she pulled her old ranger's badge from her breast pocket and held it up so it was visible for the gate guard. He squinted down, and then shouted something to someone below him on the other side of the wall. The small posterior gate opened, allowing a small man on foot to pass. Wordlessly, he came to Lydia and took a closer look at her badge.

"Lydia Jonassdotter. Former ranger, I see." he said, looking at the slash carved into the symbol on the bottom of the badge, indicating that it was void, and the ranger that owned it was no longer in service. "Say," he added, "Weren't you one of the ones that defected at the shutdown?" He looked sharply at her face.

"I was pardoned for that," Lydia said tightly, pocketing her badge. The man shrugged.

"And you're coming back after that. Oh, well. Your head, not mine." Then he looked up at the gate guard and cupped his hands over his mouth.

"Clear!" he shouted, knocking on the posterior gate. The small iron door opened and allowed him through, and then the larger gate began to open as the inside mechanism was activated. Lydia nudged her horse into a trot and entered the city.

Luminara had changed since her childhood.

The streets, unlike the bustling thoroughfares she once knew, were nearly entirely empty. A few people scuttled by on foot, keeping their heads down and their eyes forward, but Lydia was the only person riding on horseback in view. Many storefronts were boarded up or visibly empty, and as she passed, people closed their shutters.

It didn't sit well with Lydia.

Following what she could remember of the city, Lydia followed the main streets through Luminara until the looming arches and soaring buttresses of Kingshall were visible. But just as she turned onto Temple street, a line of men blocked her path.

"Halt," one called, and Lydia stopped for the second time that day. "Identification, please."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Lydia brought out her badge once more. The man came over, glanced at it, and nodded.

"Do you have invitation or passport to go beyond this point?" he asked, and Lydia paused in putting her badge away.

"Excuse me?"

"Written permission to enter the Kingshall district is required, ma'am. I'm sorry, but if you do not have such-"

"I have it," Lydia interrupted, pulling out Herobrine's invitation, the black wax seal broken and the paper slightly wrinkled from being carried in the saddlebags. The man took a moment to scan the text of the invitation, nodded, waved to his companions, and handed it back to Lydia.

"You may go." He stepped aside and gestured for her to move along.

"Thank you."

The envelope Herobrine had given Lydia had contained two things: A certificate of invitation, signed by Herobrine, and a short note, reading: _You were once one of my best rangers for your instincts of right and wrong. I need you to remember those days, and be the ever-ready ranger once more._

Trotting once more, Lydia went down the main branch of Temple street, between the two shrines and past the park that she remembered most clearly as a child. It was the one that she had picnicked in with her family...and Herobrine. That was the day that had changed everything.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia held it for a few moments before expelling it slowly. This was no time for nostalgia like that.

Crossing the small bridge over the decorative moat, Lydia halted her horse. The front doors of Kingshall stood right in front of her.

Seeing no grooms or servants anywhere, Lydia dismounted and tied her horse to the end post of the bridge and went to the doors, giving them a tentative push. They gave, meaning they weren't locked. Bracing her hands on either door, she pushed the heavy double doors wide and walked through, into a dark front hall.

She took a few moments to let her eyes adjust. There were torches and chandeliers everywhere, but none of them were lit. The only light came in through the stained glass windows and skylights, and while there were ample windows, it was a stark contrast from the bright late afternoon light she had just emerged from. The air was also very still inside, and dust motes drifted lazily in the beams of golden sunlight from the windows. The hall had a very lonely air to it.

Gathering her resolve, Lydia strode forward through the entry hall and passed into the main corridor, headed towards what she hoped was the main throne room. The entire building, she discovered, was unlit and empty. No living person could be seen anywhere. Herobrine had specified that she meet him here in Kingshall, but he hadn't specified where in the building. She resisted the urge to call.

Then she heard the distinct creak of wood. The doors at the end of the corridor slowly pushed outwards from the inside, revealing the massive chamber beyond. Someone was here, after all. Without slowing, Lydia kept walking, entering the throne room and not looking back when the doors shut behind her once more on their own accord.

Herobrine sat before her on the high-backed wooden throne, leaning on one elbow and resting his head on his hand. His eyes were closed, but the fingers of his other hand were tapping the armrest in a complex rhythm. A sign of distress or impatience, as far as Lydia knew. When Herobrine opened his eyes and looked up at her, she could see the weariness there. His dark brown eyes had been lively and playful when she knew him as a child. Now they were dulled and darkened.

"You came," Herobrine said, a hint of relief in his voice. Lydia nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I was hoping that if I came, I might gain answers to the questions I've been meaning to ask you."

Herobrine sighed heavily, smiling ruefully. "Why did I know you would say that?" he asked, more to himself than to Lydia.

"So?" Lydia prompted. "First- why did you summon me here? You want something."

Herobrine laughed shortly. "You have your mother's straightforwardness after all. That's a good sign."

"You're evading."

"No," Herobrine said, sitting up properly, "merely reminiscing. I did not summon you here for a specific purpose or mission. No, it is more vague than that. If you will allow me to explain..."

"As long as you give me somewhere to sit."

Herobrine looked up sharply and blinked, as if he just realized something. "Oh, of course! How careless of me. Please, come up here." Herobrine stood up from his throne and beckoned, walking around and behind the throne to an empty patch of floor by the windows. Lydia followed him, carefully climbing the stairs onto the dais, and watched as Herobrine snapped his fingers and summoned into existence a table and two chairs. Lydia blinked, then looked again. They had simply materialized, where one moment they simply were not, and then the next moment they were. Shaking her head briefly, Lydia picked the seat closest to her and sat down. Herobrine seated himself across from her.

"So- you wish to know first why I summoned you here?" Herobrine asked. Lydia nodded. "First, you will need to understand the situation." Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"The situation? So you have a reason for putting Luminara under a dictatorship," said Lydia. Herobrine sucked in his breath and tensed at the accusation.

"It is not so simple as it appears, Lydia," Herobrine warned. Lydia sat back in her chair.

"Oh? There's no business or commerce visible on the streets. No one walks outside except for bare necessities. No one speaks, and no one laughs. There had better be a good reason for this."

"It is for their own good."

Lydia slammed her hands down on the tabletop. "Their own good! Herobrine, Luminara is in a police state! How is this for the good of mankind?"

"To protect them from otherworldly forces, for one!" Herobrine snapped, then stopped and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When his eyes opened again, he had calmed down several degrees. "Sky and star, you really are your mother. Now, if you will listen without interrupting, I will give you my reasoning for closing off Luminara. Will you allow me that much?" Lydia clasped her hands tightly before her.

"All right. I'm sorry."

"No need," said Herobrine. "It is your nature. Now, the truth is, I have been at war for some time. A covert war, between gods. I fear for the fate of my creation, should it be caught between hammer and anvil when the time comes for the war to break out into the open. The best I can do for now is to close off Luminara from intruders and any possibility of espionage."

"Espionage from what? How does this protect us from gods?" Lydia asked, brow furrowed.

"I was just getting there. Be patient. In a covert war, direct weapons of matter and energy are seldom used. More insidious means are used. In my case, my enemy, whoever he may be, has been using my creation against me. Humans have been used as the weapons to distract and weaken me."

"So you lock us into or out of the city like a kennel and so many dogs?" Lydia asked bitterly. Herobrine narrowed his eyes.

"Remember the men that killed your comrades, Lydia? Those who murdered Alayne?" He asked sharply in return. Lydia was taken aback by the directness of his question.

"I could never forget," she answered tightly.

"They are an example of men being used as a weapon to harm me. My enemy possessed their hearts with evil, and sent them to slaughter those still loyal to me. That night, your mother and your brethren in arms were not the only ones slain. Thousands were. Thousands that I could not save. And every single cry, every plea for mercy, every last despairing moment felt by each and every innocent whose blood was shed was felt by me! Trust me Lydia- I hear the cries of my creation! And when I do something cruel to them like this, I do it to protect them, because I _must _protect them. I must protect _you_."

Silence stretched between them, charged with tension.

"We are not pawns in your battle," Lydia muttered. Herobrine relaxed, running a hand over his face.

"You do not have to understand," he resigned. "The situation will not be able to change until my enemy makes another move. I fear that older powers are at work here, powers that I have not seen since before this world was a dream in my brother's heart. You do not have to understand my tactics and motives, but you must understand this: I fear more is at stake than mankind alone. The resurgence of such ancient powers could mean the destruction of all things, including the gods. Including, perhaps, even myself and Notch."

Lydia's eyes widened, and she fell back in her seat, shocked. "How?" It was all she could ask. Herobrine shook his head.

"It is power older than words. Older even than knowledge." He fell silent, his eyes focused on a patch of table before him. For several heartbeats, he said nothing.

Lydia straightened slowly, studying Herobrine's expression. "Now, why did you summon me here?" Herobrine looked up.

"I have had visions as of late," he began, looking down at the table again. "You see, I can occasionally gaze into the future and past as a creator, to explore the paths that could be and those that could have been. I do not seek such visions often- only when I am in distress. This time, the future answered me with just one path. It is nigh on unavoidable, and it is the worst future I can possibly imagine."

"What is it?" Lydia asked, a cold feeling growing in her belly. Herobrine spread his hands before him, meeting her gaze once more.

"Utter destruction. Somehow, I could already be unshakably on a track leading to complete defeat. I have been manipulated and betrayed, and now it is already nearly too late."

"Where do I come into this?"

"You," Herobrine answered, "are one of the steps to averting complete disaster. I am not sure how, or why, but something of your doing from here on could very well save the world. You see, at the end of the path I am on, I can see only a wall of blinding agony. I cannot see beyond it, nor can I escape it now. But I can work with others that can circumvent it, and something you do will get past it and pave the way for a more favorable fate."

"How?" Lydia asked, not sure whether to be amazed or horrified at the idea. But Herobrine simply shook his head.

"As I said, I do not know. It would be something small- something you do without thinking about, and often. Perhaps a-" then he stopped abruptly mid-thought, gazing into the middle distance as if something had just dawned on him. "Do you still keep a diary?" Lydia blinked, her hand going to her satchel where the green diary rested.

"Yes. Well, sometimes." She pulled out the green leather-bound book with its quill stuck through the plain brown ribbon binding it shut. "I still write occasionally in this one." Herobrine looked at the diary with an expression of wonderment.

"This is the one Jonas gave you when you were merely seven years old," he breathed. Then he looked up at Lydia. "Make sure you keep this safe. Continue to write what seems important in it. Not just to you- events that are significant to the world, that could lead to a change in history." He stopped and stood suddenly, pacing to the far window. Outside, the sun was just touching the horizon in the west. The golden light made his features seem sharper, more taciturn, and a long shadow was cast behind him.

"Herobrine?" Lydia stood slowly from her seat, following Herobrine. He turned to face her, a pained expression on his face.

"I see now," he said. "I must work more quickly to find my enemy. You, Lydia, are the courier of sorts. You will keep the truth alive. My enemy intends to destroy not only my power, but my reputation. He intends to distort the truth, and make me a monster in history. But what would that accomplish?..." He stopped again, looking away out the window. His hands clenched into fists. "Blast it. My enemy knows me too well. He knew I would put Luminara on lock down. He knew I would go to the extreme to save my people. And now they will remember me as a tyrant."

"What do you know of your enemy?" Lydia asked. "It would help if I had something to write down. You know, so that those of us living outside Luminara know what to look out for." Herobrine turned to face Lydia.

"My enemy is a traitor god, wielding the power of an ancient Void force. It is not any of the godesses- I checked them first because the methods of attack seemed to match some of their personalities. However, their powers did not. It is also not one of the greater gods. The gods of sea, sky, wildlife, fire, and Void are all innocent by the same scale of deduction: the powers used do not match."

"How do you know?"

"Simple," Herobrine answered. "Each god has a specific set of powers they are able to manipulate. Even if they should defect to loyalty to the Void, the Void could only grant them new ways to use the powers they already had or had the potential for. It cannot grant new ones. For example, a god of fire would not be able to manipulate the waves, he would merely be able to boil them away as a new form of his powers with heat."

"I see. Go on."

"It is a deity able to enter minds, which leaves a desperate few. Notch did not trust many with this power over free will, and I never needed it before this war. But it is someone skilled. Someone that can do more than read surface thoughts. Even I can do that. But my enemy can go deeper, to hidden intentions and desires..." Herobrine trailed off. Then, without warning, he leaped back to the throne, briefly snapping his fingers to sent the extra table and chairs out of existence.

"What?" Lydia asked. "What's going on-"

"Silence!" Herobrine hissed, and Lydia quickly closed her mouth. He crouched down with his back to Lydia and placed his palms flat on the floor, closing his eyes. Lydia stayed frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

"I should have known," Herobrine muttered under his breath. Standing once more, he leaped down off the dais with barely a whisper of sound and lifted a floor tile to reveal a tunnel down. It wasn't his secret meditation chamber- instead, it was a fox-hole, a hiding place of sorts, that he had Jonas add to the design of Kingshall in the case of disaster, so that any rulers caught in the throne room would have a place to hide or take shelter. "Lydia, come here. Quietly."

Lydia, moving as softly as she could, padded across the dais and down the stairs to where Herobrine knelt. He motioned down the ladder. "Go down there. Hurry."

"You still haven't told me what's going on," she replied in a whisper.

"There are things outside. I can sense malice, direct malice. And whatever it is that is carrying such malice is right outside the doors of Kingshall. Now get down there and don't come out until I tell you everything is clear."

A deep-throated boom echoed through the broad chamber. Herobrine and Lydia looked up simultaneously at the doors to the throne room, which were still shut. The sound had come from beyond, at the front of the building. "They are coming," Herobrine murmured. "Go."

Lydia carefully climbed down the ladder into the fox hole, and Herobrine slid the tile back into place, sealing her into complete darkness.

Standing, Herobrine looked around and reached out with his senses. Immediately, he recoiled in horror. These were his monsters outside! In the shade of Kingshall, a party of zombies and skeletons were gathering already. He could sense more monsters coming in from elsewhere, as well. This was a direct attack.

And not, he decided, one that was meant to weaken him. There were not enough monsters there to truly harm him. This had to be for a more insidious purpose. A test? A diversion? He could not tell. They were coming in fast, and he had to get ready.

Breathing in deeply, Herobrine rose up off the floor and floated to his throne, settling gently back down and taking a comfortable position. He produced his pickaxe from his inventory, leaning it against the armrest of the throne in readiness. Then he adopted a slouched, fatigued posture, letting his body relax as if falling asleep.

Just as he allowed his eyes to drift shut, he heard the first zombie growling softly from the recesses of the throne room.

* * *

**Author's note time! **

**Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something? **

**Yes, I see you noticed. I left you hanging. Well, not for long! I have more updates planned that I just can't wait to write myself! It's MLK Day where I'm at, and for all you non-Americans reading, that's Martin Luther King day, a federal holiday that means a day off work for government workers and a day off of school for students. Including myself. So voila! I give you a fine new update to enjoy and agonize over. **

**Enough news. (Alright, you snarky and clever serial reviewers: Take three guesses as to which famous YouTube Minecraft animation the next scene is going to be based on. I'm waiting.) Next update: Coming as soon as my patience snaps. I'm so bad at cliffhangers. I just can't leave can't wait to read the next one, I can't wait to write the next one.  
**

**Review! Did I leave something unexplained that I shouldn't have? Any questions so far? I respond to questions in reviews, guys. ALSO: I MIGHT ADD A FEW OC'S. SO THAT MEANS I NEED SOME TO ADD. Add that in, too. Try to make the names good, no crazy hair, and no overpowered weaponry or skills. I can make a lame character pretty cool, you know. Just give me something to work with. (Heck, what's the point of the review if you can't interact with the author, anyway?) Remember to follow or fave if you want more where this came from, and I will see you next update!**

**Huntress out.**


	13. Blood of Gods

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Twelve: Blood of Gods_

Herobrine breathed slowly and evenly, eyes closed, and waited.

The zombie was coming closer now, moving slowly and deliberately. _Not my mob_, Herobrine thought. _Someone else is controlling this one_. The footsteps increased in tempo, and then the zombie took a running leap, soaring higher into the air than any monster should have been able to. Herobrine waited for the last second, listening for the metallic hum of the beast's sword coming for him.

The zombie never saw him move.

Herobrine slithered from his throne with impossible speed, snatched up his pick, turned, and drove it into the back of the zombie just as its sword was slashing through the space where he was just a fraction of a second ago. The zombie fell dead across the armrest of the throne, its sword ringing as it fell to the side. Regaining his footing, Herobrine wrenched his pick from the back of the dying mob and flicked it sharply downwards, shaking off the putrid blood.

More growls echoed from behind. Herobrine turned, looking over his shoulder, and saw that a full squad of zombies had entered the hall, opening the way for other mobs to enter. Another squad was on the way, and spiders could be seen crawling up the walls. He narrowed his eyes at the nearest attacking body, the squad of zombies armed with iron swords and waiting in battle stance. Raising his pickaxe, he turned to face them fully, leveling his weapon at them and concentrating. His muscles bunched imperceptibly.

_Blood and ashes! They fight like sentient beings! I'll have to be more careful..._

Herobrine vanished from where he stood and reappeared in the center of the grouped zombies. All of them shouted voicelessly in surprise as they were blown backwards by the small shockwave of force from his super-fast motion. Half the squad was caught unprepared and died on the spot from the force. The rest had managed to brace themselves in time.

One zombie took the opportunity to attack. Moving as fast as its undead legs would carry it, the zombie lunged forward and slashed down at Herobrine. Herobrine parried with his pick, sparks flying, and ducked as the zombie kept moving and slashed for his neck as it went past him. Whirling, Herobrine beheaded the zombie on the sharp inner edge of his pick, the head flying off towards the next attacker. The zombie, with unforeseen agility, leaped and rolled in midair to avoid the projectile, and slashed down at Herobrine with the full momentum of its body.

_Now they're sentient beings with talent. Glorious._

Herobrine parried again, ducked, and swept himself under the zombie, pick whirling to parry the next strokes. The zombie went around him, meaning to confuse him, but Herobrine knocked its sword aside as it went and struck backwards with his elbow, solidly catching the zombie in the chest. Ribs cracked under the blow. Continuing his momentum, Herobrine whirled and rammed the flat head of the T of his pickaxe into the zombie's chest with a burst of his unnatural strength, sending it flying up into the air to crash into the pillar nearby and stay there, broken and dead.

An arrow landed right between Herobrine's feet. He stumbled backwards a half step and looked upwards, to the balconies on either side of the central aisle of the throne room. Several bow-wielding skeletons stood up there at the ready, and they all had arrows nocked and drawn. _My, _he thought, _don't they have a good strategy._

More arrows rained down. Herobrine cartwheeled to the side, five arrows buried point-down in the stone where he was just moments ago. The skeletons kept shooting, reloading in perfect rhythm to keep up a steady stream of arrows. He backflipped again and again, the arrows striking the stone in a line behind him. Rolling to regain his footing, Herobrine blocked arrows on his pick and ran for the nearest pillar, building up as much momentum as he could and leaping up into the air, running straight up the pillar and under the vault it held up, catching himself on the other side by burying his pick in the back of a spider and using it as a fulcrum to kill his momentum and let him spin up and over it and back down again.

The spider fell dead to the floor three stories below, and Herobrine caught himself one-handed on the grillwork that fenced in the balconies. The skeleton just inches from him stumbled back in surprise, and then immediately recovered and prepared to shoot. Herobrine smirked.

Launching himself off the balcony railing, he twisted in flight and caught himself on the railing of the opposite balcony. The arrows of the skeletons passed harmlessly around him and struck the opposite skeleton archers dead. Rolling his eyes, Herobrine released his grip and dropped to the floor of the throne room once more. He reached out with his senses, detecting what creatures remained.

He suddenly sensed a presence he had not sensed since his last conversation with the Endermen in the forest. He had killed two, but one had managed to escape back to the End. Now it was returning. This one in particular had a personal vendetta against him, and it was linked directly to whatever Void forces were fueling the war. But that presence was still a ways off- he had more immediate worries. Swallowing hard against the rising cold in his chest, Herobrine counted to three and ducked.

The zombie's fist passed harmlessly over his head. As the zombie cried out in surprise as it was turned around by its own momentum, Herobrine grabbed its opposite arm and held it in a lock. Straightening, he turned to face the oncoming squad of zombies, these unarmed, and threw his pick with a sharp snapping motion of his arm, sending it spinning through the air and into the face of another zombie, who was lifted into the air and thrown backwards by the force of the pick's momentum. Blood sprayed through the air in a fine mist, and the pick kept going, circling the room and wrecking havoc.

Narrowing his eyes, Herobrine turned once more and slid his hand from under the shoulder of the zombie to its wrist, using his other hand to strike the small of its back, pulling its arm out straight and putting it on its knees on the floor. The next zombie was coming up to attack him from behind.

Sticking out his leg, he swept the ankles out from under the incoming zombie and, looping the arm holding his captive's wrist over his head, he twisted his body and threw the zombie he held across his back and onto the one he had tripped, flattening them both to the floor. But he didn't release his grip on the zombie's wrist.

Bracing himself, Herobrine threw the unfortunate zombie over his head by the wrist into the next zombie, crushing it flat to the floor. Tossing the broken zombie spinning into the air, he released its wrist and seized both ankles with each hand. Spinning the beast around with the full force of his body, he sent the zombie flying into the last three of the squad. All of them fell hard with muffled cries and the crackle of breaking bones.

The entire fistfight had taken no more than five heartbeats. Immediate threat dealt with, Herobrine reached out quickly with his senses as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

_Now for that blasted Enderman..._

A black-skinned fist slammed into his face.

Herobrine flew backwards off his feet from the blow and hit the ground in an uncontrollable slide across the smooth tile, a strangled cry of surprise escaping him as he struggled to stop sliding and flip back up to his feet. The Enderman teleported after him, and just as Herobrine had regained control of his footing, it rammed its fist into his face again and sent him backwards up into the air and into the back of his throne. As soon as Herobrine's back struck the wood with bone-jarring force, the Enderman was there, one clawed hand around his throat and the other bludgeoning his face. A grating scream of victory began to fill the air as the Enderman tightened its grip on Herobrine's neck. Herobrine immediately wrapped one of his hands around the Enderman's wrist and struggled uselessly with the other below him for the sword the first attacker had dropped in the seat of the throne.

"_You are no god!" _The Enderman said gleefully in Herobrine's mind, forcing its telepathic power onto him.

"No!" Herobrine sputtered, hand still grasping for the sword.

"_We will kill you!" _The Enderman continued. "_We will bring you to your knees and make you beg for mercy!_"

"You have no such power over a creator!"

"_Then prove it." _The Enderman seemed to grin, its jagged teeth bared. _"Saddled by your creation, you make yourself powerless against us."_

Another idea struck Herobrine just as the Enderman prepared to strike another devastating blow to the side of his head.

"And you," he hissed through his slowly crushing windpipe, "are powerless without THIS!" His eyes flew wide as he released the Enderman's wrist and rammed his hand down the Enderman's throat and grasped the small glowing pearl embedded within. The Enderman screamed in an entirely different manner and tried to close its vicious jaws and teeth around Herobrine's hand, but it was too late. Herobrine tore the pearl out of the Enderman's body, and while it was distracted, was able to reach down and retrieve the sword. Gasping in a lungful of air now that the Enderman no longer held him in a stranglehold, Herobrine viciously drove the sword hilt-deep into the Enderman's belly and released the hilt, sending the creature flying away with a hard kick to the chest.

_Now to finish this._ Herobrine regained his footing standing on the seat of the throne and looked up.

Fueled by magic, the pickaxe was just finishing its circuit around the throne room. Herobrine launched himself into the air and caught the pickaxe mid-flight in his free hand, the Ender pearl still in his other hand. Twisting his body, he hooked the pick around the Enderman's body and used it as an anchor to turn on, sending the Enderman straight up into the air and himself straight down. He hit the floor in a run, launched up in the air again, and kicked off a pillar, coming along side the Enderman as it was still going up.

Rolling in the air, Herobrine used the full force of his strength to strike the pommel of the sword with the flat side of his pick, sending it through the Enderman and down into the floor. Completing his roll, Herobrine threw down the pearl and teleported, reaching the ground before the Enderman did. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the sword and pulled it free from the stone, raising it up into the air over his head.

The Enderman landed on it point first, impaling itself through the chest with an ear-shattering dying scream that sent a shockwave through the room, cracking stone and glass in its wake.

Herobrine let the arm holding up the Enderman fall to the side, the eyes of the Enderman now blank in death and the rest of its body limp and beginning to dissipate. Pulling the sword free, he calmly began to walk back to his throne.

A single drop of blood fell from the deep scores on his hand left by the Enderman's teeth, splattering on the tiles.

Taking a shaky breath, Herobrine surveyed the room from the dais. His senses told him the battle was over, and no more rogue mobs were coming. Dropping the sword beside the throne and putting his pick away in his inventory, he stepped down from the dais and went to the tile where the fox hole was hidden below. Two corpses of zombies were lying on top of it- he kicked them aside and carefully wedged his fingers into the seam between the tiles, lifting the stone and pushing it aside.

Lydia looked up as light entered the small hiding hole from above. Herobrine reached his unhurt hand down towards her, beckoning.

"It is safe now," he called. "My enemy somehow took control of a number of my monsters and used them to attack me." Lydia climbed the ladder, accepting Herobrine's hand and letting herself be pulled the rest of the way from the hole and onto the floor of the throne room again. The smell of rotting flesh and blood assaulted her nostrils, and she grimaced against it, looking around at the dead zombies and spiders around the floor.

Then she noticed the healing cuts on Herobrine's other hand.

"You're hurt," she said, surprised. Herobrine looked down at his hand and tucked it behind him, looking up at Lydia again.

"So I was. It happens on occasion." He turned to go back to his throne.

"How? You're one of the most powerful beings out there..." Lydia trailed off as Herobrine stopped walking towards the throne and leveled his gaze at hers.

"So I am," he answered, "But what do you think would happen if I unleashed my power in a place like this? My enemy knew I would have to hold back for the sake of my people here. I had to fight more like a human would, and thus I face a greater risk of injury. This," He held up his bleeding hand, "is of no consequence to me. My body can repair itself from any injury. I am a Creator god- I am above the needs of the flesh I wrap around myself." _No need to think about how close to the truth the Enderman was, for now at least. _

"I see."

"Now," Herobrine said in a more brief and businesslike tone, "You need to get out of here. This attack was by no means the last that will come to me. Go back to your home country and ride quickly."

"What will you do?" Lydia asked. Herobrine looked away, gazing at the rising stars through the windows.

"I am going to subvert my enemy's manipulation," he answered, his voice soft. "I'm going to lift the lock down on Luminara and devote myself and my power entirely to finding the identity of the traitor. It is time I forced his hand, for all the times he has forced mine." _I will do what I should have done a long time ago..._

"That's all you need me for?" Lydia asked as she began inching towards the door. Herobrine nodded.

"Yes. Just keep the record. And stay alive, of course. Now go! Quickly, child!"

Lydia turned and ran for the door, shouldering it open and running from the throne room. She didn't stop running until she had reached her horse, still tied to the bridge post and rearing out of distress at the scent of blood.

"Hush, Windfoot!" Lydia cooed, taking the reigns and pulling the horse back down to its feet. "Shh. Shh. We need to get out of here. That's better..." Stepping up on the stirrup, Lydia smoothly mounted and broke into a gallop, flying out of the city as the last dredges of sunlight vanished from the sky and night fell over Luminara.

Herobrine settled down in his throne and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts fall to silence in meditation and reaching out with his senses. He had attempted to contact Notch many times and been answered with silence, but he never gave up trying. Now he searched for any trace of his brother's presence to follow and attach to.

Nothing.

Opening his eyes, Herobrine stood from his throne and stepped down from the dais, going under the balcony on one side and into a side hall, to the room where the entrance to his meditation hall lay. Pushing aside the obsidian slab with a wave of his hand and a measure of power, Herobrine dropped down the hole and landed on the floor of the redstone lit chamber, bending his knees to absorb the impact.

He had one last trick to try. It would be risky, but he had to speak with his brother one last time before the real battle began. Straightening, he produced with his mind and a burst of his innate creation energy twelve blocks of glowing yellow crystal glowstone. With a wave of his hand, water spread to fill the vertical portal frame, and white sparks flew as the portal magic activated. Quickly, Herobrine chanted the spell that would hide his power and the portal's energy from prying eyes and senses, and reached his power through the portal, into the Aether.

There he was at last able to sense his brother's presence.

"Forgive me for what I am about to say, brother." Herobrine whispered to himself before sending his mental summons through the portal.

"_Notch," _he called with his mind, and the presence jerked and immediately grasped to his. A humanoid image appeared on the surface of the water, taking on the dark hair and eyes of the eldest of the creator gods.

"_Herobrine,"_ the image answered. _"It has been a long time." _

* * *

**Haha! It's finished! At last!  
**

**So- how did I do on this version of a certain well-known battle between Herobrine and the mobs? In my humble opinion, it was much better than the last try, but I'll let you be the judge. (Oh, and before I get some wise guy review saying _Herobrine was using a scythe, dummy, _I'm going to openly state that Dilingoo, the creator of the animation, said himself that Herobrine used a pick in his video. It was filtered through the Dokucraft texture pack, so it looked like a scythe. (Others will say he used a hoe- but in Dokucraft, the hoe looks more like a shovel.) It was not. It was a pickaxe.) **

**What a satisfying chapter to write! I've been dying to write this for a while now. Whelp, now we know that La- uh, You know Who, has made his first move, and the war is about to finally come out in the open. The Ender War against the gods has just begun! **

**Just wait- the Ender War against the Overworld is yet to come! **

**Now we know how all those scattered plot points come together. Review! How did I do? **

**Huntress out.**


	14. Rogue's Trap

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Thirteen: Rogue's Trap  
_

Laskig spoke personally with Notch as his mobs were attacking Kingshall, testing Herobrine's strength when he couldn't use his powers in preparation for a full attack. His plan was almost ready to put into motion, and if he could help it, he would have it completed long before his deadline of midwinter. As it was, time was already growing short.

He spied on Notch as the portal opened, thinking carefully about his next moves from here. All of them were risky and would require all of his power, so he could not afford any mistakes. His little talk with Notch had proven that.

The conversation before Herobrine had contacted had not been a pleasant one.

"He is a threat," Laskig hissed as Notch paced his council chamber, the massive round table empty but for a few seats, taken up by Laskig and the three other members of Notch's circle of advisers. Notch stopped and slammed his fist down on the table.

"He is my brother!" Notch roared. "What other suspects do you have? He cannot be the one- your so-called evidence is not conclusive enough.

"Our evidence-"

"Your evidence!" Notch snapped, cutting off Diadel, patron god of lovers and enemies, mid-sentence. "Your evidence is filled with holes. Every action that you claim has been his working for the enemy could very well be an action against it."

"Herobrine is very devious," Diadel said, but his voice held a defeated tone.

"My lord," Laskig spoke up. "My lord, the possibility is too great, but if you will not act immediately, I may have a temporary solution."

"Speak," Notch replied, not looking at Laskig.

"If he is the traitor, watch him. Predict his movements, as you know him best. If what you say about him now still holds true, it would be his nature to deflect attention from himself and onto another person right about now. He would then proceed with actions that seem peaceful and good- good enough that in the situation, they would be completely out of character. That is how we would know he is the traitor."

"And what do you expect me to do abut him if he does so and I am still not certain he is the traitor?" Notch asked sourly. Laskig inclined his head.

"I have thought about this myself," Laskig answered. "If you are still not sure, stretch out your senses. If he is in contact with dark forces, then there can be no doubt. If there still is, then instead of striking him down, remove his power before he can be given anything by the Void to increase it."

"If he is innocent despite everything?" Notch prompted, leveling his icy gaze at Laskig.

"He will be vulnerable, but not completely helpless. He would still be able to call on you, after all, and you could keep him from falling into Void hands."

Notch sighed, running his hands through his hair. When he looked back at Laskig, his glare had become even colder.

"Your plan is sound," Notch said, "But take care, Laskig. If you are wrong, and Herobrine is not the traitor, then who is? There are very, very few possibilities left."

Laskig stood suddenly, kicking back his chair and meeting Notch's eyes dead-on.

"If I were the traitor," Laskig began, "I would have run by now and sought to increase my power."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"What?" Laskig blinked as Notch looked away with a wry smile. But that smile never touched his eyes.

"You would stay here and whisper lies to distract attention from yourself, just as you say Herobrine is doing. You walk a dangerous line, Laskig. If you are wrong," Notch spun and slammed the table with one hand, and a thick crack opened down the center, throwing puffs of dust in the air. Laskig jumped back a little. "Then my wrath will fall on your head."

Laskig took several deep breaths before speaking again.

"I see, my lord." He ran a hand over his face, adopting a weary expression. "If I am wrong," he said slowly, lowering his voice, "then it would mean the end of us all. Frankly," he smiled in the same way Notch did, "Your wrath would probably be more merciful than the destruction of the Void."

Notch laughed humorlessly. "Perhaps you are right."

He left the council room.

* * *

Notch watched the figure through the blue light of the Aether portal with growing suspicion. Herobrine had not contacted him for years, and now he was using the portal as a means to speak rather than coming to him, or simply using his power.

_What are you up to, little brother?_

Either Herobrine was being cautious, or he was using a trick to make Notch think that they were already deep in trouble and being watched. As desperately as he didn't want to believe it, he already had too much evidence that Herobrine was working against him. Yet something in his heart told him otherwise, so he was willing to give his brother the benefit of the doubt.

Herobrine was, after all, the first one to realize there was a traitor. Why speak up about such a thing if he were the traitor himself?

"Herobrine," Notch said calmly, masking his thoughts. "It has been a long time."

"_Indeed_." Herobrine replied, his voice warped through the portal. He took a deep breath. "_There is something I must tell you, and you are not going to like it_."

The cold feeling in Notch's chest grew colder and began to spread. "What is it?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. He had been warned that Herobrine was going to say just that if he were guilty of treason. Notch knew Herobrine, and he knew vaguely what kind of plan he would follow if he were to betray the other gods. He had already proposed that a traitor existed, so the next step was to vanish and appear to investigate, and then to name the traitor as someone other than himself.

Before, Notch would have believed Herobrine was truly looking for the traitor, but the signs of sincerity were becoming fewer and further between. His most trusted advisors among the gods were pointing out all of the signs - Herobrine had vanished from even his sight, and refused to communicate fully. He had hidden things from Notch. Now what would he have to hide?

"_I have narrowed down the possible suspects of the traitor, and all of them are on your personal counsel. I am sorry Notch, but it is someone close to you. Someone that can see everything within the hearts of men, and knows how to manipulate it._"

"Herobrine," Notch began, "When did you figure this out?" Herobrine blinked, his image in the portal wavering.

"_Just days ago. I've been trying to contact you about it, but I haven't been able to sense your presence anywhere. Where were you?_"

"Unable to sense me?" Notch asked sharply. "Herobrine, that is a pitiful excuse."

Now to see if the truth would appear. He glared sharply at Herobrine, hoping to provoke a reaction that would give a real hint to Herobrine's loyalties.

Herobrine was taken aback by Notch's words. "_Excuse? Pardon me, but for what?_"

"What are you hiding, Herobrine?" Notch growled. "You have been avoiding me, and you are hiding everything from me. Tell me now." A small amount of power was added to the last sentence, adding compulsion to the command.

"_Do not bully me now,_" Herobrine snapped. "_Notch, this is war with a Void being, and we know it. You are the main target as the main creator, and if they get to me while we are linked, they get to you. If they get to you, then it's over. I'm hiding my plans from you for the reason I just told you: Someone on your innermost circle is the traitor. They would be able to overhear your very thoughts with the power they have been given by the Void_."

"Is it?" Notch replied, his voice low. "Herobrine, my inner circle are not the only suspects."

"_Are you-_" Herobrine broke off, realizing what Notch was saying. "_You are. You accuse me like the others. I thought we knew one another, brother._" He put extra emphasis on the last word.

"There is too much evidence against you."

"_Of course there is. I'm up to my elbows already in the enemy's webs. If I'm not at least partially fooling even you, I'm not doing my job correctly. Remember the time Before, Notch_."

Notch sighed. "I remember, Herobrine. But the possibility carries risks that are too great." His head ached dully. It was too risky to leave Herobrine free if he was the traitor. He had to do something.

Laskig watched as Notch made contact with Herobrine from outside the walls, masking his presence as well as he could. He was the one that pointed out the signs that led to Herobrine as the traitor, and hopefully, it would be able to deflect suspicion away from him. By the time Notch realized the truth, if all went well, it would be too late. Laskig would already have the full power of the Shadow behind him, and he would be strong enough to take down the creator in battle.

"_Notch. The risks are even greater if you are wrong. The traitor will still be there, and if you do anything overly sudden on your suspicion of me, then I simply will not be there to help you. You are being deceived._"

"What do you propose?" Notch weighed Herobrine's statement, and decided he had a valid point. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was being deceived.

"_I am going to lift the bans and blockades on my people here. I realize now that I was manipulated to put them there in the first place, and as much as I want to focus on protecting my people and domain, I must devote every resource I have now to confirming the identity of the traitor._" Herobrine closed his eyes for a moment. "_When I lift the bans, the enemy will realize what I have done and act quickly to ensure that I do not regain my bearings in time to retaliate. I anticipate a massive attack, and I will need to be far away from my people in order to protect them from the destruction. While I fight- and I am confident I can fight them off-, you must watch carefully in your realm for any sign of darkness or Void power. The traitor may give one little slip during the attack. You have to take it. It is our best chance at finding our traitor."_

Notch pondered Herobrine's plan. It aligned all too well with Laskig's warnings, and he could not take a chance at this point. There was too much evidence against Herobrine now, but he had to give him some benefit of the doubt.

At least warn him of what was to come. If he was innocent, then he would still have a chance.

"_I trust you," _Herobrine continued when Notch did not speak. "_I know you will do what you think is the right thing. But you must also trust me, brother." _

Notch made his decision. He would use the plan his advisers had suggested, but on his own terms.

"Herobrine," Notch began, "You must understand something by now at least of our enemy's movements. Your plan aligns too well."

"_What are you suggesting?_"

"There is very little you can do now that I can trust. You have hidden yourself, vanished and neglected your people for long stretches of time, and now this. My advisers warned me of something like this- a plan like yours."

"_I just told you that your advisers-"_

"I know!" Notch interrupted. "I know what you have said about my advisers, and I know what my advisers have said about you. At this point, it could be either of you. I have to follow my heart now. And my heart tells me you are in too deep."

"_What are you going do do?" _Herobrine asked, his brow furrowed. "_Notch, if you make a mistake now, it could mean our utter destruction._"

"I am going to watch, as you have suggested. Lift the lockdown, but know that as I observe my counsel, I also observe you. If you make a single suspicious action, I will strip you of your powers and come for you." Notch's voice grew colder with every word. Herobrine blanched.

"_Notch! Do you know what could happen if I am left powerless when the Void attacks?"_

"Contact me if that happens. Call to me, so I come for you sooner rather than later."

"_Something has been keeping me from being able to do just that all this time," _Herobrine shot back. "_Notch, you have to believe me. I am not the traitor, and if you do this to me when I am at my most vulnerable, I could be taken, and you would never know!" _He stopped, as if he just realized something.

"I am finished speaking with you," Notch said coolly, waving his hand to dissapate the portal. "Prove me wrong, brother."

"_Notch, wait! This could be what the enemy wants-" _

The portal deactivated, and Notch made the frame vanish out of existence.

Laskig grinned wickedly from his hiding place, and drew out of the room, back into his own self.

Everything was going exactly as planned.

* * *

Hanna ran to greet Lydia at the castle gates. As Lydia dismounted and the groom took her horse to the stables, Hanna rushed in to hug her tightly.

"Hey," Lydia admonished as she struggled in her sister's grip, "I'm covered in sweat and horse stink. Wait until I've bathed."

Hanna drew back to look her sister up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "I'm a queen, not a sissy. I'm not afraid of dirt." Lydia smiled and shook her head.

"Don't ever let the other court ladies hear you say that."

The girls shared a laugh, and Hanna peppered Lydia with questions as they walked into the castle. What was the city like, what was really going on, and so on. Lydia remembered with a pang that Hanna, while she was born in Luminara, would barely remember the city. They were forced to flee when she was just four years old.

"I thought you said you would never go back to Luminara. What changed your mind?" asked Hanna. Lydia stopped in her tracks for a moment, brow furrowed.

"I got an invitation from someone I used to know," she answered. "He needed to talk about something important." She trailed off, her mind wandering back to her conversation with Herobrine. She was still confused about the situation, and knew it was something bigger than she would be able to fully comprehend. Herobrine's charge had been simple: Stay alive, and keep her diary going. It was supposedly some sort of key to averting destruction, but Lydia couldn't understand how that would keep the world from being torn apart in a war between gods. Somehow, Herobrine's reputation seemed to have very little to do with it.

"Lydia?"

Lydia looked up again, and realized that she had become lost in her thoughts. Hanna had asked her something else, and she had missed it.

"I'm sorry," Lydia said, shaking her head. "What did you say?"

"I said," Hanna repeated obligingly, "Who invited you?"

Lydia could see his face in her mind's eye. "Herobrine," she answered. Herobrine, the god she once served, and now in a way served again. "Listen, I can't say much about this, and don't tell anyone else about it. I wasn't ordered to keep quiet, but I have a bad feeling." Hanna nodded.

"I understand. Say, luncheon is about to be served on the lawn. Would you like to join us?"

"I would probably show up anyway, invited or not."

Hanna laughed, a light, graceful sound. "Knowing you, you probably would."

The sisters passed under the massive tapestries hanging over the doors and entered the castle arm-in-arm, off to eat lunch on the castle grounds and simply enjoy the day. The sky was blue and clear, and the autumn day was warm. Lydia smiled to herself. She could use the time to clear her head, and not have to think about celestial wars and world destruction. Even if she had to wear one of those silly gowns- and she would, as sister to the queen-, she would be glad to join her sister and the upper court.

* * *

Laskig tied off the thread and broke it on his teeth, lifting up his handiwork into the light to admire it. He held a dark leather mask in his hands, something that would conceal his identity well enough that a simple mind-spell would keep Herobrine from remembering who he was. The creator god could sense presences, but once the Thing was finished with him, he would have only images to rely on to restore his memories. And if Laskig wore a mask, Herobrine would never remember his face.

Tying back his matted hair half-plaited into dozens of tiny braids, Laskig slipped the mask on over his face and put his black chain coif over his head, securing the mask underneath in place with a strap that went around the back of his neck and an iron crown that went on top of his head. Only his glowing red eyes were visible through the cutouts, and Laskig whispered a short spell that turned them black. He admired his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall off to the side, and deemed himself ready.

He wore a black cloak over his newly-engraved armor, one that flowed as fluidly as shadows and made him seem even more wraith-like. His hands were covered by gauntlets, and his sword, a wicked scimitar of obsidian, hung on the sword belt at his side. The mask was the face of a scowling demon, with a deeply furrowed brow and a deeply frowning, thin-lipped mouth. With his eyes dark, Laskig was barely visible in the shadows, and Herobrine would remember only a shadow of a tall being wearing a crown.

Flipping his cloak back off of his shoulder, Laskig took his skull-topped scepter from where it sat in the corner of his mountain hideaway and began to pace, tapping the floor evenly with the three-and-a-half foot scepter in its new coat of black lacquer.

He needed only to wait until Herobrine was alone, and then he would have time to strike. Notch would feel no darkness in the Aether- because the only one carrying the darkness of the Void would be in the Overworld, tailing Herobrine.

The gods, one and all, had fallen so perfectly into his trap. Now, he only needed the right moment to come.

Laskig's wicked chuckle echoed through the darkness.

* * *

**Chapter finished. Explaining time. **

**I have been sick and out of school for the past few days, but well enough to type, so here we go again. (I know, I know. I have such fragile health, I should get over it, blah blah blah. But then how would I excuse my tardiness of updating?**

**Action coming? You betcha. Hold your horses- the next three chapters are going to be VITAL to the story. The point of no return is coming, and I'm just as excited as you are. Trust me. (Fight scenes are just _so darn fun!_) **

**REVIEW if you liked what you saw here, and don't forget to FOLLOW or FAVORITE me if you want more where that came from, so you never miss out on my updates. Because trust me, I'm completely unpredictable about updating. (And my excuses are even worse.)**

**Author's note over- time to get to work on your next installment. **

**Huntress out. **


	15. Deception Siege

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Fourteen: Deception Siege_

Herobrine knew the eyes of all the world were on him this day. All the gods in the Aether knew today was the day he finally made his move that would determine the end game, and all of mankind was watching eagerly. He had sent out the summons through the city for everyone to gather in Court Square, the square between Kingshall and the shrines of the city, and he could already hear the crowd growing beyond the limits of the city square, into the adjoining streets and nearby park. Many people were already getting restless.

Herobrine checked the skies through the windows behind his throne- nearly noon. It was almost time.

In wars between gods, open violence only broke out when one side gave in. The majority of the fighting was in feints and mind-battles, small tricks and deceptions that piled up and up until it all at last broke out into the open, and by then, the field was usually already set for one side to be guaranteed victory. Herobrine could not be more familiar with the procedure. He knew the many ways of entrapping another god in their own wiles, and he cursed his own blindness that had held him back now.

The creator god already knew, between his visions and his deductions, that he was in a deadly trap. But he wasn't cornered yet, or so he hoped. The traitor had been so dastardly clever, orchestrating the corruption of mankind and a deep rift between Herobrine and Notch. The traitor knew the two gods would remain separate in the case of a Void resurgence, and he had acted upon that. Someone had whispered things into Notch's ear, and done what no Void power had ever done before- he made him distrust his own brother.

Herobrine closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, deeply pondering the events of the day just before. At first, he believed that humans had been the main weapon against him, used to unhinge him and distract him. That had worked, but while Herobrine searched fruitlessly, the enemy had moved on. Now, as Herobrine realized with a start, he was pitting the Creator brothers- none other than himself and Notch!- against one another.

As a tactic, if it could be made to work, nothing could be more effective.

Herobrine knew now how the enemy intended to bring him down- it would fool Notch into stripping him of his powers-, but what would it do against Notch after? He could not tell. Shaking his head, Herobrine stood up from his throne and went to the window, gazing off into the forested distance over the walls of the city. He had just one plan of action left now, and it was shaky.

He had to find the identity of the traitor. It was now or never.

When he left the city today, there was no doubt that an agent of the Void would make the first full-scale strike against him as soon as he was isolated. If he could be quick enough, Herobrine would latch on to the thread of black magic and trace it, following it to its source where he hoped he would find the traitor or at least some clue to the traitor's whereabouts. It was extremely likely that the traitor would personally appear once he was alone. Under normal circumstances, it would be an easy plan, almost too easy.

But this time, his brother was threatening to leave him helpless in the most critical moment.

Herobrine clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He had another plan ready, a contingency plan, but it was even shakier. If anything, it would be a last-ditch effort to save himself. If Notch did indeed take away his power, then he had sources of power stored away in crystals and amulets, ready for use in just such an emergency. He would use that power to teleport back to Kingshall, and quickly make a means to escape to the Aether. Ward upon ward, layers of magical barriers, had been erected over the palace just for this occasion- powerful walls that would keep all but the most powerful beings out.

But they wouldn't hold forever. If Herobrine could not escape in time, then he would be in a desperate situation, indeed.

The light in the room shifted ever so slightly.

The sun had reached its zenith. It was time.

* * *

Every slow, deliberate step Herobrine took on the smooth-cut stone could be heard clearly through the recesses of the square. No one moved, no one spoke, and no one looked anywhere but at the balcony. A collective intake of breath was heard as Herobrine stepped into view, into the sunlight to be seen by all. There was no moved, and not one piece of clothing or armor rustled.

The silence was almost unnatural.

Herobrine looked up at the sun over his head, gazing briefly into its impossible bright. He was there when that sun was made. He was the one to give it color. Every tree, flower, and blade of grass it gave life to was his creation. And now before him stood rank upon rank of men and women and children- his creation, and his people. He was their god. Their creator.

So why did he feel so powerless?

Herobrine softly cleared his throat.

"Greetings, people of Luminara," he began. People here and there snapped to attention, and Herobrine felt all eyes turn upon him. "I have called you here for a single purpose.

"We all recall the violence of past years- the turmoil that filled the streets of this beautiful city. As I remember, few liked my reaction to this violence, and fewer still have approved of my actions more recently. I can understand why.

"Let me say this for all to hear, and to confess once and for all: I have wronged you." A few gasped, here and there, and there were small sweeps of murmuring across the massive crowd, but the rest remained in deadpan silence. No one felt the need to protest. Everyone agreed.

"Though I am a god," Herobrine continued, "I am not the highest of all, and I do not carry the authority of such. In the past years, I became your tyrant rather than your protector, and kept you from doing the very thing I accuse you of never knowing how to do: to rule yourselves. I was blind and hasty in my actions, and I have never allowed you to break free from me and grow on your own.

"But believe me when I say this- I meant the best for you in all I did. The best for all of you." Herobrine sighed heavily, swallowing. "But good intentions do not make right what I have done to you. I cannot hide behind a coward's mask of denial.

"The charges stand against me, and you know them as well as I. I have overstepped my authority, and upon this day, I return that authority back to you, for it was never mine to take over you. I feared that you would destroy yourselves before, but now I must let you govern your own by your own laws. Remember the lessons I have taught, indeed, but I cannot keep you now out of fear alone. To hold you back now, my people, would require cruelty.

"I will not prolong my crime. Today, I will leave you to ensure your safety from otherworldly forces as I should have been doing, and I will leave you to yourselves. If all goes well, you shall not see me again for a very long time. I withdraw all of my authority from this city, and I call forth the former Council you chose for yourselves to step up and lead in my place. I ask you to do justly and lead with a gentle hand, to remember the virtues I have taught you." Herobrine paused, as if finished with his speech. A few people shifted, a few more began to murmur. Herobrine gripped the railing of the balcony and looked up at the sky once more.

He glanced back down at the crowd, and silence fell again. "Do not forget," Herobrine said, his voice magically amplified over the crowd, "I still love you. One and all. Farewell."

He did not give anyone in the crowd time to return the gesture. There just wasn't enough time for false pleasantries.

Releasing the railing, Herobrine spread his arms and flew up into the sky, hurtling past the clouds and into the layer of the sky where the ground faded away into misty blue and the stars faded into view. The sun grew blindingly bright as Herobrine rose further still, and then changed direction, arcing down to the earth far to the North.

Air whistled past him as he flew, stinging his eyes and building heat behind him. Tucking in his limbs, Herobrine slowed and dropped straight down like a stone, landing on the ground in a crouch with a solid _boom. _The stone shook beneath him, and buckled in places.

He stood, looking around him. Tall, ancient oaks grew all around, fighting for the sparse patches of soil between the broad swathes of exposed rock. The mountains loomed oppressively close to the North, a cold wind blowing down from their snow-capped peaks. Taking a deep breath, Herobrine spread out his senses, picked a direction, and began his search.

_Yes, watch me Notch. _Herobrine thought. _Watch all our predictions come true. _

It would not be long before the first presence of the Void would appear.

* * *

_"Thank you," the priest said, and the attendant bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving the priest alone with a cup of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. _

_He sat in the upstairs room of a village on the edge of a heavily forested realm, the desk before him cluttered with his various papers and maps. The snow was piled high outside- too high for travel. He had stayed here for several weeks already, forced to winter here. It rankled him- he needed to speak with Corren as soon as he could. The priest took a deep sip from his hot chocolate as he ruminated bitterly, and managed to burn his tongue. _

_With a sigh, he put down the cup, careful not to spill it anywhere, and looked at the empty blank page of his codex. The story was beginning to come together, at least, with the few pieces of local history he had managed to collect. He had all sorts of reports of disasters and warfare- the fall of Arrenvale, the earthquake at the Great Temple- but what he really wanted was the reason behind all that violence. _

_A knock came to the door. _

_Before the priest could answer, a green-robed villager poked his head in. _

_"You wished to see me?" the newcomer asked, and the priest immediately struggled to his feet, inching around the desk to embrace him in the traditional greeting between clergy. _

_"Remund, I trust? The monk and healer?" the priest asked, and the green-robed villager nodded. _

_"I was told you sought the truth." _

_"Indeed, I do!" the priest replied enthusiastically, gesturing for Remund to find himself a seat. "Please, make yourself comfortable! I'm sorry I couldn't offer you a neater meeting place. These borrowed rooms are all I have." _

_"No matter," Remund said sagely, finding a stool under a stack of books and evicting the volumes to seat himself. The priest sat down in his chair again, folding his hands before him on the desk. _

_"You say you have had visions before?" the priest asked, and Remund nodded. _

_"I predicted the great earthquake," he answered. "It happened three days later, at the very time I knew it would." _

_"You refer to the one that buried the great library?"_

_"Yes." _

_"What a pity," the priest said. "It was said to be a masterwork. And the knowledge they had already stored within!" _

_"Perhaps," Remund pointed out, "That knowledge may be unearthed later. The wreckage will be cleared in time, I hope." _

_The priest nodded. _

_"Perhaps. Now- you said that through visions, you witnessed a great battle between gods?"_

_"Yes. If you wish, I have much of this written down. I was in meditation when they first came, and prepared for writing down such revelations." _

_"Oh, excellent! May I see these notes?" _

_Remund drew a scroll of papers from his belt, tied with a scrap of canvas. "Would you mind if I told you what I remembered as you read? It would save time." _

_The priest waved a dismissive hand as he took the scroll and began untying the dusty fabric binding. "Pish-posh. It's winter. We have nothing but time. Please, tell me your story." _

_Remund adjusted his seat, settling himself in more comfortably. "I received the first vision when I was in my morning meditation, three months ago. I saw two gods, Notch and Herobrine, just as the paintings in the Temple had them depicted, but for a few differences. Notch wore battle-armor of shining diamond and gold, and he wielded a sword. So did Herobrine, and Herobrine bore a sword- a great black sword-, the weapon he swore never to carry. His eyes, as well, were wrong. They were white, just as the human survivors described them to be before they died. We had a great many wounded come to the Temple in past decades, when I was just a boy. No one ever survived- they would all fall ill._

_Anyway, the two gods were not the ones battling. Herobrine seemed to fade away, pushed deeply into the earth and sealed there. Instantly I knew there was powerful magic involved, and that he had been banished away from the world. But then the real enemy appeared, a great black cloud that seemed to consume the light around it. Everything it touched shriveled and died." _

_The priest slowly looked up and sat a little straighter as Remund spoke. He had heard of Void gods, evil creatures of unmaking from the beginning of time. "Could it be..." he whispered, and Remund nodded. _

_"It was... I'm not sure what to call it. Notch spoke to it, cursed it as an 'evil thing', proclaiming that he would banish its darkness from his world once and for all. I refer to it as the Shadow in my notes. I wasn't sure what else to name it as. Now as I watched, the cloud became something else. It transformed._

_"That was when my first vision ended. Nothing much was clear- I think it was something that happened years ago, rather than in the future." _

_The priest put down the papers in his hand. _

_"If what you're saying is true..." he said, trailing off as he went deeply into thought. "How miraculous." _

_"You believe me?" Remund seemed surprised. "Many have dismissed my visions as dreams or lies. Even among the Temple staff, despite my warnings." The priest shook his head. _

_"You are not the only one who can see through Time, my friend," the priest answered. "I've served Notch all my years, and I'm an old man. I know sincerity when I see it. I'll need to check other sources to see how much of what you saw was true- I'm also a scholar, after all,- but I believe you. Trust me, I believe you. You aren't the first seer I've met."_

_Remund relaxed visibly. _

_"Now," the priest continued with a less serious air, "What did your next vision show you?"_

_The two spoke for hours, until Remund grew hoarse and the Priest looked down at his empty cup of hot chocolate with longing as the twilight cold began to seep into the stones of the tower. At last, he held up his hand to stop. _

_"It's getting late. Thank you, Remund. Now I have something to do all winter, before going off to the road again." Remund smiled. _

_"I am glad to be of assistance, sir." At that, he bowed farewell and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. The priest sat back in his chair at his desk, stroking his chin in thought. _

_So much had happened between the last time Lydia encountered Herobrine, as recorded in her diary, and the day Herobrine vanished completely from the world. Some said he had been slain, others that he merely left to allow a false sense of security to develop. Others still claimed that he was banished to another realm. Either way, he had caused vast amounts of destruction in the roughly five years before his disappearance, and he left an even vaster mystery in his wake. _

_It had been fifty-odd years since then, perhaps even sixty. _

_The priest propped his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on one hand, twirling a quill lazily in the other. What he really wanted to know was what happened to cause Herobrine's first disappearance, after which he showed up again and started his whole spree of atrocities. He gazed down at the largest vellum page on his desk, a large and detailed portrait of Herobrine that had been reworked to show white eyes. All the portraits had been reworked so. _

_The priest dropped the quill back into its inkwell and sat back in a huff, never taking his eyes off the portrait._

_"What were you up to?" he mused. _

_A lone wolf howled outside, signaling the rising of the moon and the fall of night. _


	16. Rogue's Triumph

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Fifteen: Rogue's Triumph _

There would be no moon tonight.

The sun was beginning to set at last, burning the horizon the color of blood and bathing the world in fiery hues. Herobrine sat cross-legged atop a tree, facing the sun with his eyes closed. His senses were spread far and wide, relayed through every tree and flower and vein of ore and moving creature. He called upon his most ancient power this night to keep watch- power that he had not touched since the dawn of mankind. Nothing within a day's run from any part of his portion of creation would escape his sight. All that lived or breathed or grew was his, from the animals that walked the earth to the ores growing in the crushingly hot layers below, and it all kept watch for him.

So far, the falling night was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. The entire world seemed to be holding its breath as the sun went down in its blazing glory, anticipating what would come in the night.

When it came, Herobrine would be ready for it.

He went over in his head what he knew. There were but six suspects remaining- Notch's consul. Each had the subtle power it would take to twist and control the human race, but Herobrine needed specific information. Who would launch an attack on him specifically? Who was the one he knew had been working against him the most in the past years? Who would best avoid notice? He knew he was missing something, and he went over and over everything he knew trying to find out what.

Herobrine's lips curled into a snarl. No, he didn't have six suspects. Now that he was meditating solely on it, he realized he could only possibly have three. Two of them, as he realized, would not have used mankind as a weapon. They'd have used it as a hostage against him. And another would have worked against Notch, completely disregarding Herobrine. That left three remaining: Diadel, Foresynth, and Laskig.

_But which of these could it be?_, Herobrine thought. Frustrated, he opened his eyes and sighed. The sun was showing its last sliver of deep red fire at the horizon and the light in the sky was fading. Above, the first star began to weakly shine through the sun's dying brilliance.

In the distance, a small forested glade steadily recoiled as a thread of Void power unwound and began draining the life-force from its surroundings.

Herobrine sprang to his feet and turned towards the source of the evil energy, eyes narrowed. Clenching his jaw, he summoned up his pickaxe and gripped its haft with strength almost enough to crush it.

The enemy had come. He was out of time.

Calling forth his power, Herobrine gently floated up a few feet above the treetops, and then flew in the direction of the Void presence. He flew fast and low over the forest, making his approach to at last meet his ultimate enemy head-on.

* * *

Laskig watched Herobrine fly past from atop his mountain, headed to where the Thing's troops were rallying for the trap. The sky above was darkening fast, and it was nearly time for him to go.

The timing could not be more perfect. It was the last new moon before midwinter, and a heavy mist was forming over the half-frozen lakes and frosted-over forest trails. It was a dark night coming, indeed, and Laskig would need that darkness.

While Herobrine ran to face the shadow troops of the Thing, Laskig prepared to move in the opposite direction.

He knew of Herobrine's contingency plan, and it would not do.

He would have to personally ensure it failed. As the ghostly outline of the blackened moon appeared over the horizon, Laskig spread his leathery wings and took off, flapping hard to make it to Kingshall in time.

He had Herobrine's powerful defensive magic to foil, after all.

* * *

Herobrine touched down softly on the ground a short ways from the glade, fresh frost crackling beneath his feet. The sense of the Void presence was stronger than ever now, and growing stronger yet. More entities were coming, then. He could already sense quite a few.

He noticed the marked silence, and tensed as soon as he realized its presence.

His mobs were not rising tonight.

The chirrup of an Enderman echoed shortly nearby in the cold air. Another one answered it, from a position closer to Herobrine. Herobrine gripped his pick a little tighter, then forced himself to relax.

Then he slammed one palm down onto the ground.

The very earth roiled beneath him, and the trees whipped aside, branches lashing down and trapping every single Enderman present. The branches thickened, threatening to envelop their quarry completely, and other plants joined in. Grass, roots, flowers, all joined to bind the enemy and trap it. Every Enderman in the glade- roughly twenty-five- began screaming in denial and thrashing at their bonds.

Herobrine straightened and smirked, striding into the glade with his pickaxe twirling lazily in one hand. These Endermen, at least, would be no threat.

But more were coming.

Herobrine needed to work quickly.

Energy roiled into the glade, gathering into a circle around Herobrine. He pushed his power out at the energy, trying to break through the wall and find the threads that were guiding it, but it was too thick and cloying. Endermen began to appear out of the building black cloud of energy, standing in a circle to entrap the god. The swirling cloud picked up speed as more and more Endermen teleported in, forming two full ranks around Herobrine. The air began to move as well, making a swift breeze that tousled Herobrine's hair and made the grass dance sporadically.

_There!_

As soon as the last Enderman took its place in the circles, Herobrine found the thread of energy outside the great cloud, leading off across the Overworld. Overjoyed, he sent his senses out after it, sheathing the thread in his own power.

Enderman claws raked down at his face.

Distracted, Herobrine could not keep hold on the thread. He ducked, swearing as he went, and buried his pick's sharp end into the Enderman's chest. The Enderman fell with a shriek, dissolving before it hit the ground. The Ender pearl fell away, and Herobrine swiftly took it up into his inventory.

The others fell upon him en mass.

Diving low, Herobrine slid out from under the piling Endermen and flipped to his feet. An Enderman was there, ready for him. It slashed hard horizontally, and Herobrine rolled sideways, falling into a cartwheel. The Enderman jerked backwards in surprise as Herobrine's feet swept past, narrowly avoiding being hit, but it did not dodge in time to avoid a hard side kick to its belly. The Enderman fell, and Herobrine dispatched it with a blow to the head.

Two more Endermen barred his way. Herobrine summoned a fireball and set them aflame on the spot, and then used his power to push them flying backwards with a wave of his hand, into a small pond where they both struggled vainly to escape the deadly burning water.

He was walking clear of the swirling energy now, and with a quick gesture, summoned down several bolts of lightning into the center. Endermen screamed from within, and the cloud began to dissipate.

An Enderman teleported right behind Herobrine.

It fell without a sound, head severed, but more came in the same manner, just quickly enough to keep Herobrine occupied. Herobrine could barely keep up as one after the other teleported to him and struck instantly, and he found himself retreating, aiming for the pond.

He found his back to a tree.

One Enderman came right in front of him, slashing with its claws. Herobrine ducked and rolled to the side, the Enderman leaving deep scores in the wood of the tree where his head was only a heartbeat ago. Catching his breath, Herobrine sought out the thin and fading thread of energy and went after it, fleeing the Endermen. He leaped over a fallen tree, and prepared to propel himself into flight.

A searing pain lashed through his chest.

A bark of surprise escaped Herobrine's lips as he, and the Enderman behind him, crashed down to the ground, Herobrine facedown and the Enderman on top of him. The Enderman had teleported with perfect timing- it snapped into existence just as Herobrine was in mid-leap and positioned itself so that its claws would appear inside Herobrine's chest. With a victorious shout, it tore its clenched claws free, leaving a jagged wound in Herobrine's back.

With a berserker's cry, Herobrine reached his pick back behind him and hooked it around the Enderman, pulling it off of him to the ground. The wound was already beginning to close, but it was extremely painful. Snarling at the Enderman, Herobrine used his power to rupture its organs from within. The Enderman screamed and twitched spasmodically, and was still.

There was something in the wound, Herobrine realized. Something his body was not rejecting properly.

_No time to worry about that now._

Herobrine broke into a run, outpacing the Endermen, and chased after the receding thread of energy, reaching out threads of his own power to link with it and lead him to the traitor. He was so close now, so close to reaching his goal...

A dull throb that wracked his entire body stopped him cold.

Herobrine felt a distinct pull, and felt strength draining from his limbs. Coldness replaced it, and his muscles cramped and began to tremble. Fatigue spread unnaturally quickly through his entire being, and Herobrine fell to his knees, suddenly too tired to move. His pick fell from his numb and shaking hands, and as he cradled his head with his hands and tried to stay awake, it began to dawn on him what was happening.

The realization spread through him like fire, followed by an icy wave of fear.

_No. _

_No, no no no no!_

_NO! _

In the breath of a single moment, his power was utterly and completely gone.

Notch had betrayed him after all.

Herobrine looked up as he heard the sounds of pursuit coming closer. Forcing himself to his feet, he picked up his pickaxe and began to run again, pulling the Ender pearls he picked up from his inventory.

He would need every tool he could get, now.

* * *

Notch paced in his chamber, unsure of what to do. He could see the swirling Void energy gathering around Herobrine, but he knew he couldn't act yet. Herobrine may yet be staving off and attack, and would need his power now.

But then Herobrine emerged from the cloud, and the cloud dispersed behind him.

Notch froze and began to watch through his mind's eye with more interest. Herobrine was still fighting off the Endermen, but with much less power than he would normally have. There was something wrong-

Ah.

Herobrine was wounded, that much was clear. But he ran...

Notch's eyes widened as he saw what he had dreaded seeing the most. It wasn't an attack after all! As he watched, dark power blossomed within Herobrine's own being, attaching to the Void energy that began to pour into the world. Anger roiled in Notch's chest, and he lifted his hand, gathering his power to make the spell.

Herobrine would pay for his treachery!

In the back of Notch's mind, however, another voice still insisted that Herobrine was innocent. This was a trick of the enemy, and both the brothers were fooled. Notch's hands shook from how hard he clenched his fists, and he altered the spell.

It would not take all of Herobrine's power, but it would leave him unable to strike out against the Overworld or the other gods.

With a few spoken words, Notch unleashed the spell, aiming it down to the Overworld at Herobrine's running figure and forcing it to pierce into Herobrine's true being, beneath the shell of flesh he wore. The fire within it began to diminish as Herobrine's power drained away, and Notch prepared to cut off the spell.

Something shadowy brushed past his consciousness. With a start, Notch snapped off the spell and spread his senses about him elsewhere. That was the Void! It could be nothing else- he knew nothing better. But how could he have sensed it here in the Aether?

Something laughed, and Notch felt the dark presence again.

_"**Your brother..." **_it hissed in a deep, whispering basso voice, "**_Your brother is mine..._**"

Immediately, Notch summoned a sword to his hand and sought out the presence.

A deep, dark shadow leaped up from the wall and passed right through Notch, going into the wall beyond and continuing on. Notch heard it continue to laugh until he felt the ripple of a dimensional barrier being crossed, and he swore violently.

He didn't have time to worry about his brother now. He had larger problems. Tracing the shadow's residual magic, Notch chased after it, leaving Herobrine to fend for himself.

He had left enough power for him to defend himself if he remained innocent, after all.

* * *

But that was not to be.

Laskig grinned wickedly as he felt the spell come down. Quickly, he attached his own power to it, and as the spell from Notch ended, Laskig caught the trailing end of magic and attached it to himself, continuing the drain of Herobrine's power.

The god had not been completely taken, but he was weak enough to be subdued to the state of a human. That Laskig could assure.

The energy flow cut off abruptly. Herobrine had no power left to take.

Smiling gleefully beneath his mask, Laskig turned his attention to the building before him: Kingshall. In his god-sight, he could see the shimmering purple and blue barriers over the palace, the protection laid down by Herobrine himself in the case of his own defeat. The barriers would be impenetrable to all but the most powerful beings- too strong for the likes of Laskig, even with his help from the Thing.

But Laskig now held the lion's share of a Creator God's power.

He need not break down the barriers yet- he would do that later, as he savored Herobrine's long and crushing defeat. But he did take down the shields over a single door.

Welcoming himself in, Laskig went straight into the throne room and found himself a comfortable spot in the corner, deep in shadows, to wait for his prey to arrive.

* * *

Herobrine gasped for air as he ran on and on, cursing how weak he had become. His inventory was still his to command, and he could still use magical objects, so these he used. Summoning another Ender pearl to his hand, he cast it as far into the distance as he could and felt it shatter some hundred feet away. His body jerked out and back into existence painfully, leaving Herobrine on his hands and knees for a moment.

There was a potion of regeneration in his inventory, just for this. He took the fragile, teardrop-shaped bottle in his hand and crushed it on the ground, letting the dense pink mist envelope him in its healing magic.

The Endermen were not far behind. He had to move.

The lights of Luminara could be seen in the distance now, and Herobrine, even in his weakened state, could feel the pull of his protective wards. Soon, he would be able to stop running. He put on an extra burst of speed, dodging branches and trees as he went, following the light on the horizon.

_Now!_

Herobrine drew up the energy stored in the small crystal embedded in the joint of the pickaxe and directed it into a simple spell, envisioning the place where he needed to be. His body began to teleport, and suddenly he was within the walls of Kingshall, on his knees, safe. This teleportation was more painless, and though he was badly worn out by the magic, it did not injure him.

His breathing slowed as he rested for a few moments, and eventually, he was able to pick himself up off the floor and take in another potion of regeneration and one of his brews for strength and speed. If it came to a fight, he would be ready for it for as long as the potions lasted. Even though he had imbued them with enough power to last the night, they would not last forever.

He could feel dark forces already fighting the wards. Blow after magical blow came down upon them, causing the structure of Kingshall to physically tremble.

He would not have much time. Exiting the entry hall, Herobrine went to the throne room where the wards were thickest and drew from his inventory the items he would need to create a portal. He carefully placed the glowstone blocks for the frame, and added the water as quickly as he could, stepping back as the magic of the portal activated.

Now Herobrine would have to wait. He did not have the power to call out to his brother now. His brother would have to see him first.

"Notch," Herobrine called into the portal, "Notch, answer me. I need you." Nothing responded, and Herobrine wondered what would prevent Notch from noticing that the portal had opened.

"Notch!" Herobrine called again, shouting this time. "Notch! Heed me! I don't have time for this!"

A low chuckle from the shadows made Herobrine's blood run cold. He inhaled sharply and turned, seeing movement in the recesses off to the side, but unable to make anything out.

_The traitor!_

A masked, cloaked figure stepped out of the darkness and into the pool of light from the portal. It wore a leather mask with the expression of a leering demon, and its eyes were pits of black. It wore richly engraved armor, and held in its hand a long, wicked-looking scimitar.

_Who could it be?_

Herobrine's mind raced as he thought back on the suspects he had. Diadel was taller, thinner. He did not handle blades. Foresynth had a different style, and he preferred narrow swords to what this one was holding. But Laskig had red eyes.

He thought harder. He thought of what Notch had said on their conversation in the Aether, how the desires of mankind had become twisted. He thought of who had been paying the most personal visits to him, who had turned the pantheon of gods against him...

_Of course. _

"Laskig," Herobrine spat. "So you are the one."

Laskig inclined his head. "I am pleased to see you finally figured it out," he replied, his deep voice soft and mocking. "But will it help you now?"

Herobrine said nothing, but glanced sideways at the portal. Still no sign of Notch. He considered leaping through, but in his weakened state, the Aether would be deadly to him.

"Tell me," Laskig began, "How are you feeling? Clever? That's all you have left now. Not so high and mighty now, are you, oh great and powerful Herobrine? So what clever schemes will you use to wriggle out of this one? What tricks have you left?"

Again, Herobrine said nothing. No plans came forth in his mind, but he refused to allow the growing fear deep within him to show.

He had one idea, though.

Breathing in deeply, Herobrine pulled strength from another crystal, one hung around his neck and hidden beneath his shirt, and prepared to make his move.

"NOTCH!"

The word was imbued with every ounce of power Herobrine had, directed through the portal and out into the open Aether. If Notch was anywhere even near the dimension, he would hear him. Laskig stumbled back from the force of it, but recovered quickly. Before it was too late, he dove to the portal and slashed off one of the blocks. The energy was released into the room, thundering out into the air as the portal collapsed, and with it, Herobrine's only hope.

"Not so fast," Laskig snarled, breathing heavily. "You can't stop my plans now!"

At that, he struck.

Laskig took a running start and leaped up into the air, slashing down with his scimitar in a two-handed grip, prepared to give Herobrine a crippling blow. Herobrine gasped and threw himself aside, letting Laskig fall to the empty ground where he was and bury his blade into the stone tiles, sparks and chips of rock flying.

Laskig chuckled as he yanked his scimitar out of the floor. Coming to full speed again, he rushed at Herobrine and slashed down again as if to take off his arm. Herobrine turned, letting Laskig's sword pass by in front of him, but Laskig pulled his blow. He reversed his momentum and instead swung his scimitar upwards pommel-up, catching Herobrine under the chin. Herobrine gave a short _oof, _then flew up into the air to land hard on the other side of the room. He tried to spring up, but pain lanced through his body down his back. His ribs were broken.

Rolling onto his side, Herobrine used his hands to push himself off the floor and stood, but he could not straighten. Wrapping one arm around his chest, he gripped his pickaxe in the other and turned to face Laskig.

Laskig and Herobrine fenced back and forth, exchanging heavy blows. Several of which almost floored Herobrine, but he managed to recover each time. Flipping another potion out of his inventory, Herobrine threw it down and let the mist cover him for a few heartbeats.

Laskig rushed him as he emerged.

Sinking one fist into Herobrine's belly, Laskig used the force of his blow to throw Herobrine up into the air and through the railing of the balconies above. Herobrine flopped down with a cry of pain, and then struggled to his feet and tried to run. He found a door leading to the Great Chamber, and fled through it.

He ran across the catwalk of the even more massive room decorated with diamond and gold, and slid down the railing of the stairs to the floor. This room would have been the room of the High Council. It was even larger than the throne room, and designed to seat a whole council on the dais, and hold half the city on the audience floor. Pillars of diamond and gold held up the soaring vaults, and to the rear, there were two stained glass windows bigger than some houses- one depicting Notch, to the right, and one depicting Herobrine, to the left. It was a room symbolizing peace and harmony in creation.

Now it was his battleground.

Laskig was hot on his heels.

Using his new found power, Laskig reached out a tendril of invisible energy and wrapped it around Herobrine's ankles. Herobrine fell with a cry as his feet were jerked out from under him, and he struggled against the impossible strength of the magic.

Laskig advanced slowly down the stairs to the struggling former-god.

"How pitiful," Laskig said, looking down at Herobrine. Herobrine looked up at him, his dark eyes, nearly black in this lighting, filled with hate.

Herobrine refused to respond.

"Really," Laskig continued, "I was hoping for more of a fight from you. Look at you! A creator god! Kind of all mankind! Ruler of the Overworld by birthright. And now, sniveling on the floor like one of your own subjects, brought to shame. Do you know how long I have waited for this?"

"Why do you do this, Laskig?" Herobrine asked, his voice quiet. He tested his strength against the power holding him down, and his muscles trembled with the effort. With a sigh, he eased off again, waiting for Laskig to act.

Laskig feigned surprise. "Why? I thought you might already know." He knelt down and pressed his face close to Herobrine's. "I am _sick _of being your dog. To both of you Creators! No matter how hard I work or how much I do, I could never match you. You turn me down when I ask for more. You cast me aside. Now I have power of my own, and more importantly, you do not. I have found powers other than you and Notch, and they gave me a better offer." Laskig turned around, savoring the moment. He looked up at the window, deciding then how he would complete his victory.

"The Void," Herobrine breathed.

"Yes, you dimwit, the Void! The ones that understand what true power is!"

"They are treacherous," Herobrine replied. "They will destroy you."

Laskig laughed bitterly.

"We shall see about that."

Raising his hand, he made the power holding Herobrine lift him off the ground. Laskig released the spell and wrapped one hand around Herobrine's throat. Herobrine, to his dismay, did not struggle or resist. He simply clenched his jaw and held stubbornly on to Laskig's wrist with his free hand, glaring into his eyes even as scarlet began to creep up on his face, and the signs of oxygen deprivation became clearer and clearer. Laskig sniffed disdainfully.

"Let's finish this, then."

Muscles bunched, and Laskig threw Herobrine headlong up into the air. Herobrine, gasping as he flew, curled so his back was towards the window he flew towards and his arms were crossed over his chest.

Herobrine crashed through the stained-glass portrait of himself and out into the night.

His enemies were waiting.

* * *

**Oh, wow, that turned out longer than I expected. **

**Are you riled up yet and ready for more?**

**I can't hear you! Louder! Tell me that this was awesome and you MUST KNOW HOW THIS ENDS! YOU MUST HAVE MORE!**

**But that's all for this chapter, and my word count is already higher than I can allow for a chapter in this story, so for now, Ciao! See you next chapter, and good luck holding your horses until then. I've got some ghosts and skeletons to clear up from my figurative closet for this story, so it might take longer than expected. It probably won't be Wednesday. **

**It will be as soon as I can get it. I swear. **

**Now, good night, and remember to REVIEW if you enjoyed this. This story needs your support to keep the awesome coming, especially with how hectic my life is about to be. (I'm just warning you in advance...)**

**I hope you enjoyed this latest installment to CHRONICLE, and I will see you next chapter with more _Herobrine is in trouble _goodies! **

**Huntress out.**


	17. The Fall

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Sixteen: The Fall_

**Present Day**

_Remund sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed and his mind oblivious to his surroundings. Colors curled and danced behind his eyelids, slowly congealing into images that blurred in and out of focus. _

_For three nights he had been sitting here, only getting up when the sun rose to eat and then fall fast asleep until sunset. Then, when he awoke, the visions would return, relentless in their demands. _

_Before him was a book, a journal of sorts filled with his revelations from his visions and from the others like him that he had been able to find. It was open to a blank page, and in his hand was a quill loaded with fresh ink. Even now, his hand was beginning to move on its own accord as images of dark figures dancing back and forth, steel flashing, passed across his sight. _

_The pen scratched quickly on the page, only stopping for the briefest of moments when his fingers cramped. Page after page was written, until at last, the vision stopped and the quill fell from his hand. Remund shifted and groaned as his legs cramped, opening his eyes. It was morning again. _

_He looked down at what he wrote, blinking in the weak dawn light that now filtered through his window. He had trouble making out his own rushed handwriting, and much of what was written puzzled him. They were riddles, parables. He would need to ponder over his writings again, like he had many times, perhaps go over them with the priest that was wintering in the church tower nearby. _

_But one passage stopped him. This one was different than the others. It was a warning of sorts, more straightforward than the rest of this day's scribbling. _

_"_The rules of war between deities and forces shall be this: No open warfare shall be permitted until the end, for such utter destruction would result in no clear winner, but many casualties among lesser beings and creations. Let the battles be battles between minds, and subtle moves made in secret, so that when the war is inevitably pushed out into the open, the result shall already be determined. The defending party has lost, and the attacking party has won. For the attacker shall simply be coming to finish unpleasant business, and the defender will have already spent his last chance, and the war shall be done._"_

_With a sigh, Remund closed his journal and climbed into bed, hoping he would be able to better understand his new mess of notes next night. _

_So long as his visions left him alone._

* * *

The night was deceptively peaceful in Luminara. The sky was clear and scattered with stars, and the air was still, without a breath of wind.

But it was also very dark, with the only light coming from a few closed windows. The street lamps were dark, and very little illumination leaked from the tall stained-glass windows of Kingshall. The courtyard of the palace was quiet, but charged with tension.

In an instant, the silence was broken by the sound of shattering glass. Herobrine sucked in his breath as his back hit the stained glass and broke right through it. Free-falling shards cascaded down with him, cutting into his skin and clothing.

Glass rained down and shattered into dust around him as he hit the ground and slid uncontrollably with his momentum.

Herobrine tried to alter his slide and flip to his feet, but he was moving too fast to keep his balance. He fell again, rolled, and got to his feet at last, his back slamming into the far wall of the courtyard.

His instincts screamed for him to move an instant before his dulled senses told him the reason why: The wards. Herobrine leaped aside as hard as he could a split second before the wall behind him exploded inward, the magical barriers over them collapsing entirely. The explosion spoiled his leap, slamming him down face-first into the stone a few yards away.

Endermen teleported through the opening. Herobrine looked up from where he lay, and saw Enderman after Enderman appear around him, surrounding him.

_Oh, blast... _

Herobrine began to struggle to his feet, but not quickly enough.

An Enderman's fist slammed into his chest just as he had one knee under him, and Herobrine flew backwards with the force of the blow. Another Enderman was there, grasping him under the arms before he could react and teleporting high up into the air and vanishing. Another Enderman kicked him off in another direction, and another caught him and threw him spinning upwards again. Trying desperately to breathe, Herobrine curled up and tried to fend off blow after blow as he spun and flew dizzyingly through the air.

One Enderman kicked him in the small of his back, and Herobrine uncurled with a cry as he flew upwards once more.

Another slammed him in the belly, and Herobrine went down.

The ground rushed up and Herobrine met it with a starburst of pain across his vision. Dust and scree flew in a small cloud from the force of his fall, and Herobrine struggled to remember which way was down. The potion of regeneration he had taken earlier was still in effect, but it wasn't enough. Herobrine was badly shaken, and he could hear more mobs coming along.

Herobrine inhaled and felt rage building in his chest. Now that the initial shock had passed, he was ready. Laskig was controlling the mobs directly- that much he knew. And he knew a thing or two about how he had them attack. Gripping the shaft of his pickaxe, he crouched and sprang before the dust had a chance to settle.

The sharp end of his pickaxe drove straight into a zombie's face with a wet _crunch, _and Herobrine twisted his grip and tore the pick away, the head of the zombie still attached while the body fell aside. A wave of putrid blood soaked the stone all around him, and the other zombies behind the one he had slain stepped back quickly.

Herobrine smirked as the zombies hesitated.

With a fast sweeping motion, he threw the head of the zombie at one of its companions, watching it bounce off its face. He followed it, slamming his shoulder into the unfortunate zombie before it could recover and throwing it off balance. The severed head flew over Herobrine, and he skewered it on his pick again and used it to hammer a runt zombie into a small puddle of red on the stone.

Another zombie approached from behind, hoping to stab him while his back was turned.

Herobrine stepped one foot back and whirled, slamming the zombie in its midsection with the side of his pick and the full force of his body, and the zombie screamed voicelessly as it flew the hundred feet between it and the top of the courtyard wall and rammed into the stone, sticking there. Facing the rest of the zombie squad, Herobrine called up a small amount of magical energy from another amulet and threw his pick end-over-end, using the magic to send it circling into the distance, killing everything in its path. Another zombie, thinking he was unarmed, approached Herobrine with its sword raised. Herobrine clenched his fists, looking, to all appearances, like he was preparing to fight.

The pick blinked past, and the zombie blinked as it fell to the ground, its legs missing entirely. Blood pooled around the bisected zombie, and it fell forward, dead.

The pick circled more tightly now, and the zombie squad that surrounded him was cut down entirely. One zombie was quick enough to duck and avoid the flashing blades, slashing down at Herobrine, but Herobrine was quicker. He caught the zombie's sword arm with his forearm, and grabbed its wrist in his free hand. Turning around, he threw the zombie over his back with enough force to tear off its arm. The zombie slammed down into an attacking Enderman, who grunted in surprise as the zombie slammed into it just as it teleported in to attack, and fell flat to the ground, its body broken.

Herobrine took the sword, arm still attached, and blocked a hail of arrows with it, following his instincts more than his sight. The power of the potions was wearing thin already, but still holding. More arrows came from the other direction. Taking the initiative, he slashed straight down at a nearby zombie and cut it in half down to its chest. Herobrine braced himself against the body, and a half-dozen arrows thudded into the zombie's flesh, effectively shielding Herobrine.

Then Herobrine paused, eyes widening slightly.

A creeper was approaching from behind his zombie shield. Tossing away the dead monster, Herobrine skipped a few paces to the side and swung his sword flat-first into the creeper's middle, batting it up into the air and over the wall he knew most of the arrows had come from.

An explosion shook the floor of the courtyard, and now-dead skeleton skulls and bones flew up into the air. Herobrine took a moment to remove the arm still attached to the hilt of the sword and cast it aside before another squadron of zombies ran into position around him.

One zombie did not wait. It immediately attacked, slicing towards Herobrine's neck. Herobrine backpedaled, catching the zombie's wrist with his free hand and holding it in place while he stabbed another attacking zombie through the heart and then turned back to behead the one he held. Immediately, he released the wrist of the zombie and gripped his sword with both hands, fending off an Enderman that leaped in feet-first, meaning to kick him to the ground.

Herobrine turned and held his sword out straight in front of him, and the Enderman teleported exactly where he had predicted- onto the blade of the sword. Swinging the blade, and the Enderman attached, over his head, Herobrine threw the Enderman over him and down into the ground, mercilessly tearing his sword free and catching the Ender pearl that he levered out of the corpse with the tip of the blade.

Herobrine tossed his sword into his left hand and threw the Ender pearl off into the distance with his right, and then stopped to catch his breath.

_I can't keep fighting like this. If this goes on much longer... _

A charging Enderman slammed bodily into him and kept running, carrying Herobrine with it as it burst through a solid stone wall, using Herobrine as its battering ram, and teleported to do the same from another direction. Herobrine struggled to stay awake as his head hit the stone again with enough force to crack his skull, but he was too dazed to do much else as the Enderman teleported up high and threw him down into the ground again, sending chunks of stone and dirt flying.

Mercifully, the Ender pearl shattered at that instant, and Herobrine found himself sliding down the window at the far end of the courtyard, landing just barely on his feet on the sill with a pained _oof. _Straightening, Herobrine looked over the courtyard and tried to gather his thoughts.

A trickle of warmth ran down his forehead, and redness leaked into one eye. Blinking, Herobrine touched his forehead, and found that he was bleeding from a deep wound at his hairline.

_Void take it! I'm out of potions!_

Herobrine shook his head and turned his attention back to the battle. From his vantage point, Herobrine could at last see how many there were attacking him, and began to formulate a plan. He needed to get out and find a safer place to build a portal to the Aether, but to do that, he needed to find an escape route. The nearest one was the hole blasted in the wall by the attacking Endermen, across the courtyard, and at that moment, that way was blocked.

_We'll just have to do something about that, won't we? _

His pickaxe was just finishing its swathe of destruction, and was coming his way. Leaping up as high as his strength would allow, Herobrine flipped gracefully in the air and caught the pick on the way down. An Enderman looked up just a moment too late- Herobrine landed on its shoulders with the full force of his momentum and buried his pick in its head. Springing up again, he hooked his pick around the neck of another Enderman and swung around it, kicking off a zombie to keep going so that he was braced on the Enderman's slender back. Pushing off with both legs, grasping the shaft of his pickaxe with both hands, he cleanly sliced off the Enderman's head and flew backwards, Ender pearls tumbling free after him. The severed head landed a few paces away as Herobrine landed smoothly on his feet and hastily picked up the pearls.

Clenching his jaw in concentration, Herobrine threw the handful of pearls up into the air over the group of remaining mobs and crouched down into a fighting position.

The pearls shattered one after another, and Herobrine teleported with them. He slashed and stabbed hard with impossible speed, ending up in a fast slide away from the group in a similar crouch to the one he started in. Pain lanced through his body, and he knew he had taken a gamble using so many pearls at once in his weakened state.

Blood exploded into the air behind him. Every mob in the group fell to the ground, dead.

_Well, at least that worked. _

Herobrine was never given a chance to regain his bearings.

Immediately, a spider ran up and pounced, knocking Herobrine over and pinning him to the ground. More spiders crawled up into a circle around Herobrine and spewed a mess of webs over him, further tying him to the ground.

_Laskig, you clever scum! _

Endermen were flashing in and out of existence high above, teleporting creepers high into the air so that they would explode as soon as they touched the ground. As soon as each one had dropped its load, the Endermen teleported down to Herobrine, helping the spiders to hold him down.

_Not this time._

The potion of strength he had taken before was already overtaxed and running out quickly. Herobrine decided to make the most of it and wriggled his right arm free, using all of his strength to break through the webbing and behead the Endermen directly above him. Two Ender pearls fell, and he caught both in his other hand, tossing one behind him.

He teleported free of the circle of spiders, but with a cry of surprise at the sudden pulling force, he realized the strings of webbing were still attached. Bracing himself against the pull, he leaped sideways and began circling, wrapping the webbing around the Endermen before they could teleport after him. He threw the other Ender pearl behind him as far as he could, and then twisted to cut himself free of the strands of webs.

Exhausted, Herobrine fell and flopped to the ground, rolling with his remaining momentum. The creepers had nearly reached the ground, but just as the nearest one was expanding to explode, Herobrine felt the Ender pearl break and the teleportation magic take hold.

Herobrine found himself on the roof of Kingshall just as an ear-splitting explosion shook the entire building.

Then everything went still.

The courtyard was silent at last, but when Herobrine tried to sit up, his body immediately screamed and spasmed against him. He fell back down with a cry, coughing weakly. A small spray of blood came up.

Kingshall shuddered ominously.

Herobrine felt it before he heard it over the ringing in his ears- the roof was collapsing beneath him. Helpless, he felt the stone crack and buckle away, and suddenly he was falling through empty space.

Laskig watched with bored interest from the balcony in the Council room as Herobrine fell through the roof. Herobrine had nearly found a way to escape, but not this time.

He smiled wickedly beneath his mask as Herobrine crashed to the ground, followed by a hail of stone and brick.

Pain exploded through Herobrine's body, and he could barely move. With a groan, he heaved a block of stone off his chest and rolled onto his belly, forcing himself onto his hands and knees. His pick was gone, lost somewhere in the rubble. Spasms wracked his body, and Herobrine hacked up dust and blood. His muscles trembled, and everything in his body begged him to stop and just lie down.

Laskig vaulted over the balcony railing and floated gracefully to the ground.

"How are you feeling?" Laskig mocked, and Herobrine fell onto his side with a cough, looking up at Laskig dully. The last dredges of the potion of regeneration were clearing away his dizziness, but there just wasn't enough of the magic left to heal his broken bones. A wave of weakness went through his limbs, warning Herobrine that the rest of his magic had run out as well.

This was it.

"It's been very entertaining," Laskig said as he approached Herobrine and drew his scimitar from his side, "but I'm afraid the puppet show must end now." Herobrine pushed himself away as Laskig drew closer, somehow finding the strength to get to his feet.

"Not so fast," Laskig admonished, leaping forward and punching Herobrine in the bridge of his nose. Herobrine stumbled backwards with a short cry, putting one hand to his now-broken nose, trying to stem the flow of blood that now ran from his nostrils.

Laskig stopped and sighed.

"Oh, look at you," Laskig spat, "I always wanted to see what you would be like beneath all that power. I'm disappointed, really. I was hoping for something a little more... determined. But not this. This-" Laskig teleported behind Herobrine and slashed deep scores on the backs of his knees, "is pathetic." Herobrine fell to his knees with a cry as the muscles went slack and gave out. Wrapping one arm around his chest, he used the other to brace himself against a piece of rubble. "I was hoping for a real fight, Herobrine! But look at you. All it takes is a few of your own monsters and then... this."

Laskig turned away, sheathing his sword.

"Let's get this over with, then," he muttered under his breath, and grabbed Herobrine by the back of his shirt, hauling him along with him, leaving a dark streaking trail of blood behind him. Herobrine was barely conscious now, with only the occasional moan escaping him as his trailing limbs barked into obstructions. Laskig dragged him up the stairs and through the doorway leading out onto the balconies in the throne room, casually tossing him over the railing and sprawling onto the floor. Herobrine was too tired to make a sound. He tried to drag himself up with his forearms, but his legs would not respond.

Laskig leaped down after him and kicked him bodily into the middle of the room.

Darkness gathered outside, a deeper darkness than the night that blotted out the stars. Laskig could feel the pressure on the remaining wards, the power of the Thing leaking into the cracks he had torn.

_**Yesss... **_It hissed in Laskig's mind, and Laskig felt it's gleeful anticipation.

Drawing his scimitar once more, Laskig pulled Herobrine up onto his knees by the front of his shirt. He couldn't help but grin at the broken and bloodied Creator.

"Now it's my turn, Herobrine. _Ave _and farewell."

Laskig drove his scimitar into Herobrine's chest, and backed away, leaving the sword. Herobrine coughed and cried out, but he was too weak to struggle. The scimitar, fueled by Laskig's own power, held Herobrine upright where he was as it began to pull his life from his body.

"_Kearb dna Rettash!" _Laskig whispered, and the wards outside violently shattered.

All the windows in the throne room bowed and shattered inward as the power of the Thing rushed inward, drawn towards the energy Laskig's sword was releasing. Herobrine found voice to scream as the pressure against his life force redoubled, destroying his body.

"_**YOU ARE MINE!**_"

Darkness exploded over the world from Kingshall, and an earthquake followed, the very Overworld trembling as the Thing closed its power around Herobrine and flew from the world. Laskig cowered in the shadows until the shaking stopped, only daring to come out when he could see starlight leaking in through the broken windows again. His sword, the black scimitar, fell unsupported to the ground now that Herobrine was gone. He watched it fall and rattle to the stone, and only after several heartbeats had passed did he move to pick it up again.

Sheathing his sword, Laskig turned his face upwards and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. The Thing had come with more power than he remembered, and much more force than he had anticipated.

Herobrine's words of warning echoed in his mind. What if the Thing really did betray him?

_No. I delivered Herobrine unto It. It will do as I bid now. _

Gathering his power, Laskig launched himself through the broken window behind the throne and flew off into the night.

He had work to do.

* * *

Herobrine felt the chill of the air passing over his skin and shivered, knowing with a sinking feeling where he was.

His power was gone, and so were all of his weapons and stores of magic. He was in the clutches of his most ancient enemy now.

Something laughed with a low, growling sound somewhere near his head.

"_**Look at me.**_"

Herobrine felt a clawed hand press down on his chest and he coughed weakly, feeling the hot blood and bile come up over his tongue. He was lying on a rough stone surface, and hands were tying ropes to each of his limbs.

He did not dare open his eyes.

"**_LOOK AT ME!_**"

He would not move.

Something snorted near his face, rustling his blood-caked hair.

"**_Soon, wretch,_**" the voice warned, "_**you will learn the price of disobedience.**_"

Pain exploded through Herobrine's belly, and dizzying darkness followed.

Herobrine embraced it wholeheartedly.

* * *

**This is Amanda the Huntress, your friendly author and sadistic tormenter of perfectly good characters. **

**Ladies and gentlemen, the countdown to the Ender War is nearly down to zero. **

**I know I'm late updating, but I am in no position to apologize after delivering THIS glory to you. Review! How did I do? **

**If you would like to know how this ends, be sure to Follow or Favorite this story. I'm sure that if you've read this far, you're going to want to keep going. **

**See you next update.**

**Huntress out.**


	18. And Winter Came

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART TWO: THE FALL

_Chapter Seventeen: And Winter Came_

**Year 266 F.E. (First Era)**

**The Feast of Laskig, first day of winter**

Notch could feel the presence near, but every time he sent his power after it, it slipped away like oil. He felt his senses warp and bend as he passed through the dimensional barrier, and as he went, he could hear the thing laughing softly at him.

Then... nothing.

He found himself standing on a bare plane of gently glowing stone with the Void looming menacingly above in bleak imitation of a sky. The End. Nothing moved around him, nothing breathed.

The presence was gone.

Clenching his jaw, Notch went back the way he came, trying to trace where the thing had gone. It had been so evil, so horribly, cloyingly evil. Surely its passage would have been tainted with it.

Again, nothing.

He had lost it completely.

Anger building, Notch went back to the Aether and to his seat of power. From there, he would look out across the whole of creation for it. It could lead him to the evil, the very evil they had been trying to track down for years now.

He could end the war at last, and deal with Herobrine later.

But then his eyes passed over something he was not expecting. He stopped, and went over the area again. Yes- it was a small place in the Overworld. The capital of the human world, Luminara, inside Kingshall. Something was very wrong.

And Herobrine-

Wait.

Where was Herobrine?

Notch immediately stopped his search for the presence- he wasn't finding anything anyway- and looked instead for the presence of the mind or power of Herobrine. His massive power stretched across every dimension, searching desperately for his brother. All of it was fruitless.

Then he caught a whiff of Void power.

Stopping, Notch came back into himself and shook his aching head to clear it. He sat back on his shining white throne in his Aether throne room, surrounded by soft white light. Something had just happened that he had not anticipated at all, but he couldn't quite tell what.

He got a sinking feeling, realizing that he may have been greatly deceived.

For a moment, Notch cleared his thoughts and took another perspective on the situation: Assume Herobrine is not the traitor. From there, he could tell that several of the other gods were working against him, trying to turn him against his brother, namely Laskig. Then to drive him to leave Herobrine weak and helpless.

But he hadn't left him helpless. So where was he?

No.

Notch realized in that instant how deep the trap was that he had just fallen for. After he had taken a portion of Herobrine's power away, he had been drawn away...

_Void take it!_

They had planned this from the beginning! If Herobrine had been even partially weakened, someone else, someone with the power to enter and see deeply into minds, would be able to use the power the Void had given them to take the rest. In addition, Notch had been drawn away and distracted. He'd been led on a wild goose chase just for this purpose- to keep him from saving Herobrine!

Notch leaped to his feet, his breath quickening.

The enemy now had Herobrine.

_Oh, what a fool I am._

* * *

Laskig watched over Luminara as the sun rose the next day, on the solstice that marked the first day of winter.

It was his holiday, the shortest day of the year, followed by the longest night. It had seemed fitting for a god of dreams, whose power reigned by night.

It seemed doubly so now.

He laughed as the night guard turned in, reporting strange sounds in the forbidden districts over the night, but thanks to Herobrine's own wards, the city hadn't heard most of the fighting. If they had, they would be far more panicked.

He could feel the power thrumming through his veins- a massive amount of power from one of the Creators, no less. He could feel it shaping the way he looked at things- he could see the very structure of the cells in the petals of the roses, and knew just how many hairs were in a horse's mane when he looked. He could see every stitch and hammer blow and swipe of the polishing cloth on every suit of armor and piece of clothing. He could count the beats of a man's heart, and saw, to his wicked pleasure, that he could stop it with just a thought.

_Oh, Herobrine. You never did let on that you were this strong..._

Herobrine's power went beyond the ability to blow up mountains or summon great storms of destruction. He could create an incredibly complex organism in moments, and unmake it in even less time. It was all in his power.

So why burn a house down if one could merely cause the wood to turn to molten stone? It would yet be destroyed, and everyone inside would be in for a far more creative death.

Laskig laughed aloud to himself. Once he mastered this power, he was sure that even Notch could not stand against him! He closed his eyes and imagined himself for a moment at the end of his campaign, with the Thing behind him under his command and Notch before him, powerless and on his knees.

It was a lovely fantasy.

Opening his eyes again, Laskig lifted himself into the air with his new power and flew for his headquarters in the mountain.

The war wasn't over yet. He still had work to do.

* * *

The bans may be lifted, but Drayda's instincts told her that she wasn't out of trouble yet.

The old woman, now gray-haired and sullen, had been living half in hiding in Luminara for years now, unhappily brooding on what would become of everyone who had escaped the city. She lived with her brothers, the ones that still lived, at least, in a small town house near the walls. An area that had been rapidly deteriorating into slums.

The sun rose on the solstice, and Drayda knew something was wrong.

Rolling out of her bunk, she put on her cloak and went outside, blinking in the weak winter sun. She could smell snow coming in the air, and feel it in her bad knee. A real cold spell was coming. The street was quiet, with no one really willing to get up yet. The bans may be lifted, but people weren't quick to lift their hopes as well.

Miserable people preferred to sleep in. That suited Drayda just fine- she liked to be alone in the city, and for at least an hour more, until the sun was all the way up, she would have the city mostly to herself for her usual daily walk. Picking up her walking stick leaning against the outside of the doorway, Drayda set off towards the forbidden district, curious for no particular reason if it would still be guarded, bans or no bans.

Almost to her surprise, they were not.

Walking openly down the main street to the square, Drayda looked between the shrines and felt something wrong again. Kingshall loomed up before her, solemn and quiet.

Feeling daring, she went down the narrow avenue to the palace and tried the door.

Unlocked.

Cracked, too. Recently cracked. Fresh, unweathered wood was showing in the cracks beneath the surface polishing. She looked up, and saw that the thick, stained glass window was also cracked. It was bowed inward slightly, spiderwebbed in barely-noticeable hairline cracks. It looked like it would shatter to pieces with just a breath. There were other markings on the paving stones and the great heavy blocks of stone in the walls, and her old tracker skills came in to play. There was still stone dust on the ground from when the deep scratches were made.

_Oh, blast it. Something happened last night here._

Pushing open the door, Drayda went into the palace.

"Halt!"

She stopped and turned, only halfway through the doorway. An out-of-breath man in iron armor was running up to her, hand on the hilt of his sword. Drayda rapped her walking stick on the ground in annoyance.

"You can't go in there," the man said in an authoritative tone. Drayda looked the man up and down. He was a somewhat handsome youth, if not for the flush on his cheeks from exertion. He was a tad pudgy in the cheeks, and likely the armor didn't fit overly well. He seemed confident enough, though, to his credit.

"And why not?" Drayda shot back, letting all of her annoyance go into the question. She enjoyed undisputed authority in her ranger days, as she ruefully remembered. Now she was being stopped by the lowliest city guard on a daily basis. This was no exception, and Drayda was far from intimidated. She leveled her glare at the youth, and his confidence seemed to wane a few degrees.

"This area is strictly limited to figures of city authority, ma'am," the youth answered, his voice just a touch unsteadier.

"But I am," Drayda replied, pulling her badge from her breast pocket. It was still unscored- technically, she still had authority as a ranger. Despite the fact that she hadn't been in the forest in years.

The youth didn't know what to say. He likely hadn't been briefed on how to address a situation like this- right now, he was trying to decide whether to consider the badge valid. Drayda rolled her eyes.

"Listen, sop," Drayda snapped. "If you hadn't noticed, the door is cracked, the window nearly broken, and there are signs of non-human forced entry in several places. Whoever is supposed to be inside this palace could be in immediate danger, so you have two choices. Delay me here, or come with me to investigate. Or," she added, "You could go get help, and _then _come to investigate."

The youth nodded once, backed away a few paces, and turned and ran.

_At least he has a sense of urgency. _

Drayda pushed her way through the doorway and entered the palace.

There had been a struggle.

The damage wasn't overly noticeable, at least, but the doors at the end of the front hall had been blown inward, and were just barely hanging on to their hinges. Chunks of stone and scatterings of dust lay here and there, clearly blown off of pillars or statues, or other parts of the building that were not fully part of the main structure.

There was an odd smell in the air. Drayda stopped to sniff the air, and her brow furrowed. She could smell the raw stone and paint, but there was also ozone on the air. That didn't bode well. And an odd, metallic tang. Hot metal? Lava? She couldn't decide.

She continued on, pushing through the broken doors and knocking one off completely onto the floor by mistake. It creaked and disintegrated as it swung aside into a heap of wood dust and splinters.

Now _that _couldn't be right.

The floor of the corridor was littered with broken glass. Drayda felt the air stirring, and looked up. Wind whistled through the broken-out skylights.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

The stone near Drayda's foot was blackened and warped, its surface resembling frozen bubbles. The image of rapidly boiling water came to mind, and she wondered what power could have boiled and warped the very stone, and then flash-hardened it again. The corridor was noticeably colder than the front hall, and it wasn't just for the missing windows. She knelt down and tapped a small bubble of the blackened stone, and it popped as it broke inward.

Brittle obsidian.

Something... something completely unhuman had been at work here.

With a distinct feeling of dread, Drayda looked to the doors of the throne room. The entire wall around the doors was bowed slightly inward, and the doors themselves looked to be straining against a vacuum force inside. Steeling herself, she opened the doors, and they swung stiffly on their hinges to reveal the true nightmare.

Running footsteps echoed with a hollow sound behind her as the young guard returned with a party. She glanced back at them- many were looking around with open mouths, wondering the same thing she did.

What happened here?

Then she looked to the throne room.

Every window had been broken inward, and broken glass was scattered in long, shining trails across the floor. The throne at the far end of the hall was smashed, pieces of it strewn down the steps to the dais. One of the balconies off to the right had collapsed, leaving the two halves of the balcony between supports resting on the ground in a V with a pile of smashed stone between.

The stone inside the throne room, like the corridor, had been changed. Some was fused to obsidian. Some was turned into a paler rock, a spongy, dusty stone that vaguely resembled the stuff of the End.

And then the blood.

The trail of red-brown began up on the balcony to the left, went down the stairs, and followed a long streak to the center of the room, where it ended in a pool that was still deep red and not quite dry. Drayda walked up and poked a bit of stone into it. It was still sticky.

Looking up at the roof, she tried to put together what she knew.

But nothing she knew could explain this.

The rest of the party of guards was behind her now, and they all started in alarm at the blood on the ground. _That _was a security matter. On every pair of lips, she heard her own question to the empty air repeated.

"What the Nether happened here?"

* * *

Notch watched the party of humans enter Kingshall from his vantage point on the balconies. He was entirely invisible and immaterial, able to pass through matter without touching it. It was the form he always took when he wanted to observe, and be unobserved in return. He often walked the Overworld like this.

The humans below, investigating the scene, were clueless as to what could have happened. To their knowledge, Kingshall had been deserted over the night.

They didn't know.

But Notch did.

He could smell the blood. He could see the black threads caught on edges of stone in the floor and on doorways. He could see the signs of a massive register of power.

Notch knew.

This was the place where Herobrine, the younger Creator and brother to Notch, had been taken by the enemy. For what purpose, Notch could not discern. Herobrine's power was now in the hands of others, and if Herobrine died, there would be little left of him to take. It would not make sense for any Void enemy to kill him now.

But it would be better if they did.

If he were to be kept alive, Notch did not dare imagine what they would do to him. Herobrine held the knowledge of the very beginnings of the world- just as much wisdom and experience as Notch did. He knew the weaknesses and strengths of all things: god, man, animal, and earth. But Herobrine would not relinquish information easily.

Even worse- Herobrine might not have been captured for information. There was more to the Creator than knowledge, even the knowledge of how to unmake that which was made.

Notch closed his eyes, and teleported himself out into the courtyard. He could see the signs of battle everywhere- The courtyard was halfway destroyed and spattered with blood both human and otherwise. Even without his powers, Herobrine had fought with exceptional skill.

Of course. He was fighting for his life, after all. Why wouldn't he?

Notch kicked a fallen skull across the courtyard with a roar of grief, watching it shatter to dust against the far wall, two hundred paces away.

"I am so sorry, Herobrine."

His vision blurred, and Notch did nothing to stop the tear that ran down his dust-caked face.

* * *

He was awake again.

He knew because the air smelled dank and moist again, and his limbs were stiff from the chill. The chains attached to his wrists were icy cold and bit into his skin.

Herobrine groaned and wished the senseless darkness would return. His body shuddered with fever chills, and his throat and mouth were aching with thirst.

"**_Awaken, my little wretched one. _**"

Herobrine realized he was hanging in the air, his back to a cold, smooth wall. Opening his eyes, he looked around. His vision was blurred, but he could see where he was. His arms were splayed out to either side, and he was hanging by his wrists halfway up a massive obsidian tower. Thunder rolled in the distance, and Herobrine blearily looked towards its source.

A pair of massive violet eyes stared back, and the creature growled thunderously again.

"_**Yesss**,_**_ look at me at last. _**"

Herobrine closed his eyes and turned his head away quickly. His stomach was turning, and threatening to forcibly empty itself. The height and the smell of the damp and his own festering wounds was making him sick and dizzy with nausea. He pressed his cheek against the obsidian behind him, taking a small comfort in its coolness.

The thing made a sound that vaguely resembled laughter.

_"_**_My__ servants... Take him up._**"

Herobrine felt a sharp pull, and the chains he was suspended on began dragging him upwards, his back scraping against the obsidian behind him. He ran over a few sharp bumps and jagged edges, and felt his shirt and skin tear as he was scraped over them. The air filled with the sharply metallic scent of blood.

He reached the top, and two pairs of clawed hands grabbed on to Herobrine beneath the arms and flipped him up onto the top of the tower. This time, Herobrine lost his battle with the nausea and heaved hard as his stomach protested the sudden dizzying reorientation. His head spun, and he could not keep his balance. The hands had to hold him upright on his knees.

Without warning, he was thrust upright and shoved backwards into a sharp, jagged object that gave a little on impact. Burning heat seared across Herobrine's back, and he struggled to get away, only to discover that he was somehow stuck. The heat continued to build up- he choked back a scream.

Fire erupted around his feet, covering the top of the tower. The huge eyes appeared again, and Herobrine could hear the thing laughing at him as he thrashed uselessly against the agony.

This time, he did scream.

An incredible force slammed into him, and everything burst into blackness. An instant later, Herobrine felt himself falling, and landed hard on the ground with enough force to bruise, but not injure severely.

He rolled and sprang to his feet, and then stumbled back in surprise. He was completely unwounded! Herobrine probed his entire body, and discovered that his clothing was intact and his skin was unblemished. He was entirely unharmed.

But how?

Something chittered and warbled behind him. Herobrine spun, and was faced by an Enderman just a few feet away. A clawed hand shot out, and Herobrine dodged with a cry, ducking under the arm and jabbing his hand low, into where the floating ribs would be. He heard something crack, and the Enderman teleported away with a scream.

More Endermen appeared, and Herobrine crouched, ready to fight. He didn't think about why- his instinct to survive simply told him to stay on his feet and stay alert. So he did.

Something wrapped around one ankle from behind and jerked him off his feet.

Herobrine fell with a gasp and struggled against the thing pulling at his ankle, scrabbling for purchase on the pale stone beneath him.

Something sharp drove through each of his hands and into the stone below. Herobrine's eyes flew wide and his jaw locked against a silent scream. Two twin spikes of black obsidian had him pinned to the ground like an insect, and the thing pulling his ankle was still tugging mercilessly, ripping at his wounded hands.

**_Learn to be helpless, worm!_**

He heard the creature's voice in his mind. Something had happened already, that the thing had a foothold in his mind.

A net descended over him, and a hundred clawed hands reached for him, raking at his skin. Herobrine cried out in revulsion, struggling against the spikes and the net, but he couldn't move.

A claw pierced deeply into his back, and white-hot pain exploded there. At the same time, everything below his ribcage went numb. He suddenly found himself unable to breathe in, and thrashed what he could in horrified terror.

Something was lifting him. That much he could see through the bright sparks that danced across his vision. Air whistled past his blood-slicked skin, and he slammed into something hard and unforgiving. He couldn't feel most of his body- couldn't breathe...

Darkness came again, and this time, Herobrine fell truly senseless.

But he knew with a sinking feeling of despair that he would wake again.

* * *

**Amanda the Huntress here, and this is now an official wrap for "The Fall" arc. **

**I don't have much to put here. If you enjoyed, let me know in a Review. If you would like to see more where that came from, be sure to leave a Favorite or Follow to keep tabs on what I'm doing.**

**And don't go away just yet! I've been telling you for several chapters now that a mysterious and long-awaited event known as the Ender Wars was coming.**

**Now I'm going to tell you that they're here. **

**That's right, folks. Things are about to get messy. Herobrine is about to come back as something very different than our beloved, kind-hearted creator, and our favorite characters- Jonas, Lydia, Hanna, and the young new king Richard, are about to be in for the fight of their lives.**

**A new arc is about to start.**

**Are you prepared?**

**Huntress out.**


	19. Herobrine's Bane

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART THREE: THE ENDER WARS

_Chapter Eighteen: Herobrine's Bane  
_

So tired.

So blasted tired.

He knew there was no hope. If Notch meant to come for him, it was too late now. The Thing had grown too powerful. It had grown from _his _power, _his _life-force, which was rapidly dwindling away.

Even his brother wouldn't be able to best the Thing now, not in its own foul realm.

Clawed hands reached for him again, and he was being dragged across the jagged rocks of the End once more. He did not have the strength to move on his own, or to turn his head. His eyesight was blurry, reddened. Ruined in one eye.

Blackness crossed his vision like a bird passing over the sun, with dizziness following. His leg barked an upright stone, the pain sending a starburst of red dancing across his vision. Nausea roiled in his gut, but there was nothing to come up. His heaves were mixed with dry coughs, producing dust and blood. He'd bitten his tongue without realizing it.

They were stretching him out spread-eagle on the ground, his arms along a beam of wood. The claws pulled his wrists apart mercilessly, forcing the cramped muscles across his shoulders and chest to stretch, and with a frustrated burst of snarls, jerked sharply and hard. Herobrine screamed shortly as his shoulder twisted and the joint dislocated.

Nails. Iron lengths as long as his forearms, tapering into a wicked point. They were driven unceremoniously through his wrists, driving between the bones.

Herobrine's screams echoed across the chill air of the End.

They were lifting the beam. He was dragged along with it, pinned as he was like an insect to a card. His entire weight was drawn up by the nails, but he couldn't find breath to groan. His lungs were crushing inwards from the weight of his own emaciated body.

The beam settled somewhere, and Herobrine's bare, cracked feet met with something cool and rough behind. Stone. He scrabbled for purchase, desperate to lift himself up and get just one breath of life-giving air...

His feet were grasped by those callous clawed hands, drawn together and pressed flat to the stone.

More nails.

This time he had breath to moan.

Tortured, dying, trapped and helpless, Herobrine felt tears prickle in his one good eye. The other burned agonizingly, the pain lost in the sea of utter torment from his wrists, his lungs...

Left alone in silence, with nothing but his own suffering to keep him company, Herobrine wept bitterly. The tears ran sparingly, thick with salt, barely moving the dried-on grime and pus from festering wounds. His legs buckled out of weakness- and his lungs suddenly could not draw in air. His heart shuddered and spasmed before beating normally again.

Panicking, he pushed himself up again, defying the pain to get another breath.

It was his body's reaction. His mind regarded the reflex dully beneath the layers and layers of pain. _Why? _he thought, _Why do I bother? What is it worth, fighting to survive? _It will mean less pain if he died.

If only he could.

He had experienced death many times already.

Each time was in itself a renewed torment. He would feel himself slipping, moving free of all the suffering and despair, into the longing darkness that held just a faint glimmer of light in the distance.

Then the Thing would appear. He would be pulled backwards, back into the world, his body renewed, his mind more scarred than ever.

There was little left of the fallen god. His clothing was tattered and disintegrating, a frayed and ragged patch falling away every so often to reveal protruding bones and sweat-slicked, yellowed skin. His hair was ragged and torn, falling over his face in greasy strings. There were open sores and festering wounds all over his body, and his lips were chapped and bleeding. It was how he usually looked between the exhausting deaths.

Here and now, crucified upon a stone pillar, Herobrine wished more than ever for death. A permanent death, away from this. His mind was already slipping, and his memory was beginning to blur, forgetting the difference between one nightmare and the next. He was finding it harder and harder to hold on to the few memories that kept him sane.

It was his only defense, his memory. He fled to within his mind as his body was abused, and held tightly to his memories to give himself hope. Comfort, even. His early days with mankind. Building the Aether. The remembered joys of creation, all those memories devoid of fear or despair.

Those were two things he had never truly known until now.

His brother would want him to fight. To hold true, until help could arrive. But as each day passed- if they could be called days in this place of eternal darkness-, Herobrine became ever more sure that help would never come.

_Forgive me, Notch, _Herobrine thought, _but I cannot do this. I cannot linger here. I cannot endure._

For help wouldn't come. Not before he broke.

* * *

Aeons passed.

Herobrine at last reached the end of his strength and collapsed down, his full weight straining against the nails without any attempt to relieve it. The pressure built upon his chest, until at last, he could no longer inhale.

His vision blurred and blackened, and he waited for the inevitable.

There it was. He could feel his body no more, and his mind was, for just one instant, clear of pain. There was the light in the distance, like a star fading into the night sky as the sun set. But he didn't reach for it this time.

The Thing was faster. The Thing was stronger.

It reached him as soon as he had gotten one glimpse of the light beyond. He felt the deep suction, the fast return to complete darkness, and then the disorienting leap that brought him back to his body again.

He was no longer on the cross, but he was falling. Ignoring his instinctive reaction towards survival, he hit the ground, limbs flopping, and let himself roll to a stop.

The Thing flew overhead, circling like a vulture as it surveyed Herobrine's helpless form. He had stopped fighting long ago. He was strong, and very ancient, but even he had a breaking point, it seemed, and that had apparently at last been reached. For the first time, the Thing had snatched him back from death without a struggle.

It was time.

**_Have you succumbed at last, O wretched one? _**

Herobrine didn't bother to answer. He only half-heard the Thing speaking in his mind.

The air rumbled with the Thing's chuckle, so low it was barely audible, and then the ground shook as it landed with a heavy _thud._

**_Look at me._**

Herobrine remained where he was. The Thing paused, remembering Herobrine's first rebellion to him.

_**It seems you will never learn. LOOK AT ME.**_

The command was a physical thing, one that took Herobrine by force. His body jerked, but Herobrine refused to let his eyes meet the Thing's. The creature extended one massive claw and tilted his chin upwards the rest of the way, and Herobrine could not stop his eyes from meeting the burning purple irises of the Thing.

His body shuddered.

Baring its teeth in a gruesome imitation of a grin, the Thing grasped Herobrine about the waist with one claw and launched up into the air, dropping him on the top of the nearest tower. It flared its wings, and perched itself on the edge.

**_You are finally ready. _**

Herobrine realized what was happening just an instant too late. The Thing locked a clawed forepaw on the floating crystal overhead and slammed it down on Herobrine's chest. Hot, acidic magical energy flooded into his body, creating a circuit between him and the Thing. His entire body spasmed and every muscle locked and strained at full strength, resisting the agony in frantic desperation.

Herobrine could feel the Thing probing his mind for an opening as his body was incapacitated by the incredible pain from the crystal. He tried to lock down the barriers of his will, but it was too late. The pain tore away his focus, and the Thing's consciousness came flooding in.

Herobrine's scream was drowned out by the force of the Thing's victorious roar.

* * *

**_Meaningless. All these memories of power, and its joys. But now you have none. All meaningless now._**

_I am more than the wretch you think I am.  
_

**_Ha! You are a wretch indeed, not knowing how to survive without your power. You are more helpless than a newborn infant. _**

_I endure.  
_

**_So far. _**

A blackness began to descend over Herobrine's mind, making it difficult to think.

_What are you doing?!_

**_Fixing things._**

Something pulled viciously, and Herobrine felt a distinct gap. He knew something had been stolen from him.

_No! Stop this!_

**_The great Herobrine, begging? It is about time!_**

_What are you?  
_

**_I am death. I am the Shadow. I am VOID! I am your ultimate bane and your lone salvation, lowly worm!_**

_You are nothing but a scion of darkness, ever defeated by light.  
_

**_High words for such as you. _**

There was another pull. Herobrine struggled with all his might, but his mind was weakened by the pain and suffering of years in the End at the hands of the Thing. Memories were pulled and torn away, and Herobrine could do nothing.

**_You were betrayed by your brother. He brought this upon you._**

_No!_

**_No? He left you helpless and alone! He delivered you to the traitor, and now only I can restore you to power!_**

_I will take none of your tainted power, Shadow. _

**_Oh, yes you will. You were born of power. It is all you are. Without it, you are slowly dying, and soon there will be nothing left of you at all. No spirit, and no soul. There will be no hope of afterlife for you, God or not, then. _**

_I-_

**_You know I speak only the truth. Face the darkness for yourself, then, and see if any light awaits for you!_**

A crippling darkness descended, and Herobrine was thrust into it, leaving his body once more.

But this time was different. Something had changed, indeed. He felt lost this time. Afraid.

And before him, there was no guiding light.

Panicking, he searched the darkness, looking for something- anything- that would save him.

He screamed to the darkness, only to discover that he was in impenetrable silence.

_No! _

The Thing, the Shadow... it was right.

_This cannot be!_

There was nothing.

There was nothing at all!

Herobrine felt himself slip backwards, and nearly cried with relief as he felt his body wrap his spirit once more in safe reality.

For the Shadow had discovered his greatest fear of all at long last: the fear of being unmade.

It had at last, after many long years, defeated the mighty Herobrine.

* * *

Herobrine's body tumbled from the tower's top onto the rocky ground below, with Herobrine cracking his head viciously against a stone. A second glance confirmed that the wound was not lethal. He would live to see another day in his current state.

The trick was an elaborate one. The Shadow at last had a deep hold on Herobrine's mind and soul that would not be easily broken. It had not been difficult to keep it from moving onwards as it would have before. Herobrine's own despair had seen to that.

It was at last time. The mighty Herobrine, creator of mankind, would now become it's ultimate enemy. His skill would become a weapon for the Shadow, an unstoppable killing machine to clear the way for it's arrival. Only a few more weeks were needed to condition him. To change his very being, and instill it's will into his mind.

The Shadow directed it's mind to Herobrine's, beginning the changes upon the helpless god.

Below, as Herobrine lay bleeding on the rocks, his dark eyes staring up at the Void slowly began to fade to soulless white.

* * *

Arrenvale was far from peaceful.

Lydia, now a member of the King's Own, a team of specialized forces, had worked harder than she ever had since her work under Herobrine. The borders were constantly threatened. The beasts of the night, while contained for now, were more dangerous than ever in number and strength.

She leaned over the balcony outside her tower room and glared up at the few gray hairs that mingled with the other dark ones that slipped from her tightly braided hair. Earlier, there had been a fireworks show, to commemorate the fourth birthday of Corren, the firstborn son of Richard and crown prince of Arrenvale.

Her sister's first child. There were already whispers that she would soon have another, but if that were the case, Lydia would be the first to know.

So much had changed since the last time she had ever seen Herobrine. The invitation, the abrupt visit, breaking her own vow to never set foot in the city again. The strange instructions, to keep a diary. Somehow it would save lives, deep in the future.

How could she know?

Now she and Hanna ruled over a kingdom, one at the side of the king, the other on the saddle before armies. Hanna was married, and had a child already. Lydia knew she would have more children, sooner or later. Family was what she wanted, and she was perfectly capable of building one.

Lydia pondered why she herself had taken no husband. Drayda, her former master, had no husband. She knew why- she had learned it in bits and pieces through hushed talk over cups of steaming herb tea by the campfire when the master ranger was out of earshot. She had loved once. Planned to marry. It was another ranger, they say, or a woodsman at least. Some said it was a hunter. With dark hair- or was it fair?

Regardless, whatever he looked like, he wound up dead, with a clear message for Drayda that warned her that she was next. She had her brothers with her- no assassin ever came in the end- but the loss had shocked her to the core. Something changed in her. She wasn't the only one this had happened to, but she had thought, somehow, that it wouldn't happen to her. Fortune had not smiled on her.

Lydia remembered her mother and shuddered. She had never been able to begin or maintain any intimate relationships with other male rangers, and she wasn't on good terms with her father, who she hadn't seen in hears. After seeing the men that killed her mother, she discovered that she truly wasn't able to get close with anyone anymore. She loved her sister dearly, and was desperately protective, but there were not many others. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have children of her own to raise and protect.

"Lydia?"

Hanna's gentle voice startled her out of her ruminations. Lydia straightened and turned. Her sister stood behind her in the open doorway, framed by the light coming from inside. She looked marvelous in the soft pink formal gown she had selected for tonight, and her hair was coiled up behind her head and crowned with a thin golden diadem. Corren, dressed up as a miniature Richard, with the sandy hair of his father and the pale blue eyes of his grandfather, hid behind his mother's leg, clinging to her dress. The party probably frightened the child, prince or not.

"Are you all right, Lydia?" Hanna asked again. Lydia nodded, kneeling down and spreading her arms. Corren smiled and ran to her, eagerly wrapping his tiny arms around Lydia's neck. Lydia hugged back for slightly longer than usual.

"You aren't all right."

It wasn't a question. Hanna simply knew. Lydia released Corren, and he went back to his mother. "I just don't feel well."

Hanna put her hands on her hips. "Don't start with that again. That's your only excuse for when you go off on your own. You've been like this for weeks. Can't you tell me what's really going on?"

"I..." Lydia began, and swallowed. She took a deep breath. "I've just been thinking about things. I'm fine."

"Liar." Hanna took Lydia's arm and pulled her back inside, bolting the door behind them. "I know your black moods when I see them. Is this about Herobrine?"

_Herobrine._

The god who first seemed to Lydia as an angel, incapable of wrongdoing.

Until now.

She had seen him when he was... weak. No. Not weak. Troubled. Desperate, perhaps.

"No," Lydia said, then murmured, "not entirely."

Hanna looked up at her with shining eyes. "Look at me." Lydia did. "Please, don't leave me out. It's as if you won't let anyone close to you. You're all alone, and you're wearing yourself too thin with your work."

"Hanna..." Lydia began.

"Please, Lydia."

"Hanna."

Her voice had sharpened. Hanna released her arm, realizing that she had gone too far with Lydia in the mood she was in. Lydia looked her in the eye, her dark eyes flinty.

"I'll be all right. I just need time to myself. That's all."

Slowly, Hanna nodded and backed away. Bending down and taking Corren by the hand, she went back into the main castle to rejoin the festivities.

Lydia unbolted the door and went back outside. The night air felt good compared to the overwarm, stuffy indoors. She was a ranger by blood, and no matter how chill, she preferred the fresh air. It gave her a small measure of the comfort of the wilds. Perhaps that's what she needed, a nice long break from work to wander the forests again.

The hairs on the back of Lydia's neck prickled, and a feeling of unease crept up, making her skin crawl. Someone, or something, was watching. And targeting her. Eyes narrowed, Lydia lowered herself into a crouch and looked around, scanning the ground below for anyone that didn't belong. All seemed well- the castle grounds were filled with peaceful party-goers, with no apparent enemies in sight.

But then she extended her gaze over the wall, into the unlit fields beyond. There was a light at the top of the hill, something dimly glowing white that set it apart from the background of darkness.

She shuddered. Lydia didn't know how she knew, but somehow, somehow she knew that those twin points of light were eyes.

And they were staring back at her.

* * *

**Amanda the Huntress here.**

**I'm back from Hiatus at last! Let me tell you, the month of March has been crazy. School, chorus, piano festival... everything. Luckily, it is now spring break where I'm at, and the madness is over for now. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Not that I left you on a massive cliffhanger or anything.  
**

**Or that I've done it again now. **

**Now that I'm back, I want to know- do you guys even read these little author's-note things? If so, when reviewing, please raise your right hand. Typed out, I mean. Like this: *raises right hand*. I'm curious.**

**If you enjoyed this and would like to see more of it, you know the drill. REVIEW and LIKE or FOLLOW and all. **

**See you next update, and next time, I'll do my best to be on time. **

**Huntress out.**


	20. Attack of Castle Arrenvale

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART THREE: THE ENDER WARS

_Chapter Nineteen: Attack of Castle Arrenvale  
_

**Year 274 F.E. (First Era)**

**The Morning of The Tenth Day of Spring, Day Three of Terra's Festival**

He'd wet the bed again.

Everyone knew when they woke up and saw the stripped-down bed empty of both its blankets and its usual inhabitant. Whenever Remund wet the bed, he would get up as soon as he awoke and strip his bed hide the evidence as best as he could before the matron came in. As long as he was back to remake the bed in time with fresh linen, she was none the wiser.

Unfortunately, others in the Temple dormitory always knew. Often as not, they were awakened when he screamed in his sleep, thrashing in the grasp of his nightmares, which seemed more common these days despite the festival. Usually, the festival of the earth goddess was blessed with sweet dreams and quiet nights.

The other Temple boys suppressed a groan and buried their faces in their pillows as Remund rushed back in to remake his bed. To his credit, he was very quick about it, tucking the sheets in with just a few quick, efficient motions and smoothing the coverlet over it all in perfect order. Then he sat on it all and made it look just imperfect enough to look slept in and rushed. The matron had caught on to his trick a while ago and knew what to do when the bed was too perfect.

When he was finished, Remund went to the corner beside the window and sat down on one of the mats on the straw platforms, crossing his legs in a fluid, practiced gesture and closing his eyes, trying to push aside what he saw in his dreams the night before.

People were screaming in his dreams. Stone fell from collapsed doorways, arches, walls, crushing fleeing shadows as they tried to escape the flames. Here and there, things would explode. Creepers would walk in front of people, blowing them into little more than vapor. He tried not to focus on that too much. The spindly green creatures were frightening enough, but the people... He couldn't see them clearly- just a slip of fabric here and there, the flare of a torch, the lower half of a mother's face bending down over a swaddled babe cradled in her arm. But he could hear their pain, their fear.

A castle. He always saw the castle. Banners fell flaming from their windowsills and flagpoles. A great causeway exploded from within, and a crown tumbled down and down into the abyss. It wasn't much, just a thin circlet of gold, barely enough to catch the light. Delicate enough to be a woman's crown, and the sort that would be worn only to gently remind others of her station and nothing more.

But the dreams didn't end tonight with the crown. They went on. There was a rider, running her horse into a lather across the dark predawn plains, leaping fences and ignoring the angry shouts of farmers as she trampled their fields. Her cloak streamed out behind her, the green of a forester or a ranger. A ray of light illuminated her face, and Remund could see that she was still a young woman, but she seemed weathered and aged, under a dark tan and frown lines. She crossed field and forest, reaching the Temple as the sun rose. Her horse collapsed beneath her, chest heaving, and she stumbled away, continuing the rest of the way on foot and pounding on the Temple doors.

The sun traversed across the sky as the dream changed, and the sky and white walls of the temple were red under the light of the sunset, and the clouds above were a bruised purple, covering all but a fine line of the sky at the horizon. Dry lightning raced across the massive underbellies of the thunderheads, threatening to strike, but even as thunder rumbled no rain came.

Then the earth began to shake. It started as a deep rumble in the hearts of the mountains to the west, and it traveled along the length of the range, growing stronger as it came closer and closer to the Temple. Rock began to fall, plaster began to crack.

The proud top of Notch's Peak began to shudder, and with a sound like the mountain itself screaming, the peak cracked in twain, and the two halves tumbled down the snowy face of the mountain, bringing with them an avalanche of ice and snow and rock and scree that grew larger with every meter. The Temple, the Library, and even the Great Sanctuaries were crushed and buried beneath a black tide of rubble.

Remund jerked when someone touched his shoulder.

"Matron's coming," someone whispered in his ear. With a nod, Remund uncrossed his legs and stood, shuffling his sleeping tunic back into its proper place and hurrying to the bed, throwing on his robes and tugging at the corners of his coverlet along with all the other boys in the room. The black-robed matron appeared in the doorway, and her glance didn't linger for more than a few moments on Remund. As she stiffly patrolled right past him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He would have to see the head priest this morning. His nightmares had come during Terra's Festival- such dreams were nearly always prophetic if they didn't include the typical pleasures of spring.

The Matron snapped her fingers and dismissed the boys, and Remund followed the tide out the door to attend to his daily duties with the others.

* * *

**The Night Before**

Lydia blinked at the lights in the distance, and wondered what to do. With every moment that passed, her intuitive warning of danger grew stronger, but without a concrete enemy, she couldn't do anything at all about it.

Fireworks exploded somewhere over her head, making her flinch. Taking a deep breath, Lydia went back inside where the noise was somewhat dampened and opened her weapons chest, pulling out her riding gear. Stripping off her gown, she pulled on her leather chaps and cotton shirt, putting on her leather tunic and iron-reenforced forearm guards and strapping on her sword belt. Hopping on one foot and then another to get on her boots as she crossed the room, Lydia hurried out the door and down the stairs. She almost ran straight into Hanna in her rush.

"Lydia!" Hanna exclaimed. "What ever is the matter?"

"Something's wrong," Lydia said, glancing at Corren, trying to think. "I spotted something outside the castle walls, and it's given me a bad feeling."

"Well, can't the other guards do something about it?" Hanna tried to grab Lydia's arm, but she pulled away, continuing down the stairs.

"I'll alert them myself." She stopped and turned at the base of the staircase. "What I saw outside the walls were lights. They weren't from the town, and it wasn't firelight. Something strange is going on, and I doubt anyone else has seen what I have."

Hanna sighed. "Be careful, Lydia." Lydia nodded curtly.

"I will."

Lydia made her way down the mostly-empty corridor, her soft boots quiet on the flagstones. There weren't any party guests here, but the palace regulars gave her inquisitive looks as she passed, mostly directed at her armor and sword. Peeking around the corner, Lydia spotted several nobles that knew her well enough meandering outside the ballroom, which sounded packed. Swallowing, she took another hallway, exiting the keep through the servant's door.

The tower guard greeted Lydia with a grunt as she jogged up the stairs onto the wall, which she returned with a nod. Once on the wall, the wind whipping at her tightly braided and pinned hair, Lydia started scanning the hills for any sign of the lights she saw earlier.

They were gone.

Shaking her head, she began to jog along the wall, looking for any sign of mischief. At each gate, she called to the guard if he had seen anything. Some of the guards were too drunk to answer straight- she marked them for punishment in the morning. Perhaps while they were still hungover. Shaking her head, she ran on.

Then heard something that made her freeze in her tracks.

As she listened, she heard the crank and clatter of a portcullis gate opening, and when she looked down, a dark-cloaked figure ran through. Heart in her throat, Lydia backtracked to the nearest tower and pounded on the door. On the tenth knock, the door burst open to reveal a wary-looking sentry that glared at her.

"What ails?" he asked gruffly.

"Someone just came through the cliff gate, someone in a black cloak. I heard the gate open but no challenge from the guards. Something bad is about to happen. Rally the guards." Lydia answered, still a little breathless. The sentry squinted at her.

"Are you sure, Lady?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Lydia snapped. "Rally the guards or enjoy your reassignment to the bogwatch." That got the sentry moving. The bogwatch was Lydia's personal creation- a unit where she assigned troublemakers, to keep witches and other bog-monsters from escaping the confines of the biome. It was hot, sticky, mosquito-bitten work, and not without the added dangers of the monsters that arose by night.

Satisfied, Lydia took the tower stairs down to ground level off the wall and ran to where she had seen the intruder enter. The portcullis was open, and the two guards manning it were both slumped against the wall, dark spreading stains on the ground around them. Lydia didn't have to check to know they were dead.

Footprints in the dust led towards the outside entrance of the dungeons, following the path that hugged the cliff. Lydia looked around, but there were no guards nearby enough that she could call for help in time. Mentally cursing, she followed the trail on the little-used path and caught sight of a dark cloak vanishing around a corner.

"Gotcha," Lydia whispered, drawing her sword. She began to creep forward around the corner, but froze when she smelled something burning. There was a distinctive hiss.

Twine and wax. That was a dynamite fuse.

Dropping her sword, Lydia clapped her hands over her ears and dove for cover under a wagon against the cobblestone wall. An explosion rocked the night, and dust blew over Lydia from the road, coating her entirely and getting under her tunic. Peering out from under her cover, Lydia spotted the dark figure escaping out into the night again right past her, not even glancing at where she hid.

Scrambling out from under the wagon, Lydia reclaimed her sword and looked around the corner to see what had been blown up and immediately went the other direction. All the monsters that had been captured and put away in the dungeons were escaping now, all the creatures that would rise again each night even after they were repeatedly killed. A hail of arrows followed Lydia, slamming into the wall behind her as she rounded a corner.

The guards were up and about now. Lydia waved for them to flee towards better cover. "Breakout!" she cried. "Dungeon breakout! Defend the guests!"

An arrow whizzed past Lydia's ear and struck a guard ahead of her in the throat. Risking a glance over her shoulder, Lydia redoubled her pace. The monsters were gaining. More arrows came by- Lydia turned and struck a few away with her sword. One lodged itself in her upper arm, making her stumble back. A guard came to her aid, but a creeper got to him first. The explosion reduced him to a red mist that splattered across Lydia, and the blast sent her off her feet and tumbling to the ground. A zombie came in for the kill, but Lydia swung wildly with her sword, knocking off its barely-attached leg and then beheading the monster.

Stumbling to her feet, Lydia ran for the keep, shouting the alarm all the way. She could already hear the screams of the party guests as the first wave of escaped monsters found easy prey. Snatching a red-gowned lady by the arm, she hauled her into the walls of the keep and ordered the guards to get everyone inside and then bolt the doors.

"Cedric!" Lydia shouted. A guard in ceremonial uniform looked up from where he was finishing off a spider outside the keep's doors. "Get to the king! Warn him!"

Cedric nodded and ran in, but a wave of arrows flew through the door after him. Two struck Lydia at an angle, one glancing off her raised arm guard as she ducked, the other grazing her leather tunic and leaving a long tear in the tunic and the shirt underneath. Blood oozed from a shallow cut beneath.

Cedric was not so fortunate. Four arrows punched through his armor in his back, but he did not slow. Reaching the throne room, he stumbled to his knees, crying "Your majesty!" all the way.

Richard sprang to his feet from his throne as the dying guard fell inward. "What's going on?" he demanded, rushing up to the guard. It was Cedric, one of his elite personal guard.

"Dungeon break," Cedric coughed. "Monsters-" He didn't finish. Swaying on his knees, Cedric fell face down and did not stir.

Richard was horrified, and about to demand that someone verify this claim when an arrow flew through the open door and missed him by a hair, slamming into the back of his throne. Brow furrowing, the king, went to the edge of the throne room. "Summon the King's Own to me," he called to the guards behind him, and exchanged his crown for the polished diamond helm on his father's armor stand. Picking up the diamond sword, Richard led the way out of the throne room with the guards at his back and charged.

The king's old sword lessons paid off, fortunately. This wasn't his first battle, although he had never faced violence on this scale before. The last guest was brought inside the keep, and the doors boomed shut. The guards, aided by Lydia and her team of the King's Own, hauled the massive iron crossbar in place to secure the door. Now all they had to do was deal with the monsters that had managed to get inside.

"How did they get out?" Richard called to Lydia as they fell into rhythm together, fighting the zombies and skeletons threatening the nobility in the courtyard.

"Someone broke in and blew the wall off the dungeon. South side, by the cliff."

"Explosives?"

"Naturally. I couldn't catch the intruder. I was overrun before I could give chase."

Richard ducked a swipe from a sword-bearing zombie and parried another stroke. Lydia stepped in and skewered the beast on her own sword, letting it fall limply to the ground.

"We didn't have this many in the dungeons, did we?" the king asked. Lydia considered the question for a moment.

"I don't know. Where else could they have come from?" She was about to add something else, but a shout from the keep's watchtower stopped her.

"Breach! The main gate is breached!" The crier's voice rang out clearly just as there was a lull in the battle, and Lydia heard an ominous rumble. "Intruders at the-"

An explosion blasted the keep's doors inward. Several armored guards were crushed between the flying iron-studded doors and the stone walls. Lydia winced, but her eyes widened when she saw the figure standing in the ruined door frame.

Herobrine.

Without taking her eyes off the cloaked figure before her, Lydia grabbed Richard's shoulder and roughly shoved him towards the throne room doors. "Get out of here. Now." Richard, eyes equally wide, obeyed without question. This was not his battle. Swallowing hard, Lydia raised her sword, but did not attack. She didn't think she could defeat someone as powerful as this.

Herobrine raised his arms by his sides, and the ground on either side of him cracked and lumped up. Something was struggling to surface. Lydia still stood there frozen, fixated in place by the one feature that was absolutely wrong, something that struck fear into her very core.

Herobrine's face was the same, but his clothing was tattered and worn. There were fresh weals and new scars on nearly every patch of exposed skin, but the one thing that screamed of wrongness was his eyes. They should have been dark and warm, those sparkling, welcoming eyes Lydia knew.

Instead, they were glowing death-white.

Not staying to find out what Herobrine was summoning, Lydia turned and ran, following the horde of screaming guests into the throne room.

Hanna was at the door leading to the ballroom when Lydia made it inside. Her sister's face was pale, and Corren was in her arms rather than at her side. She already had her hair down and her purple dressing-gown on, but she still wore her crown.

"What's happening?" Hanna asked, her regal voice trembling. Lydia glanced outside the doors. Nearly everyone was inside, but that protection wouldn't last. Herobrine was advancing, and in his hands now was a long black sword.

Closing her eyes, Lydia took a deep breath and found herself in a moment of total clarity. The exits were blocked by monsters, and their best defenses were down. Nearly half the guards were dead already, and the rest wounded. Lydia and the King's Own could hope to hold off the monsters and Herobrine for a few minutes at best. This would be no glorious battle for Arrenvale.

This was about to be a massacre. And in that moment, Lydia realized that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do to prevent it from happening.

The best she could do was save her family.

"Richard! Hanna!" Lydia cried, pointing at her sister. Richard nodded and dropped his sword, running to his wife and taking her by the arm, half-dragging her across the throne room to the spiral stairs leading up to the causeway. The elevated bridge across the castle grounds to the cliff tower was their best bet to escape. So long as the way down the tower wasn't already blocked.

Lydia took a moment to sheathe her sword and snap off the arrow shaft near to the arrowhead sticking out of her arm before following.

But then she saw a group of zombies following her sister and brother-in-law.

Drawing her sword again, Lydia charged and cut down two of the zombies before her sister saw her.

"NO Lydia!" she screamed, fighting against Richard's grip. "Don't stay for us! Find a way out! Run!"

Backing away from the remaining monsters, Lydia caught up with her siblings and urged them on. They had nearly reached the causeway now, and Lydia stopped and turned, prepared to defend the way in and buy time.

An explosion from behind knocked her off her feet.

It was several moments later before Lydia was able to blink the black spots out of her eyes and regain her footing. Clumsily picking up her sword, she turned, to see Hanna and Richard struggling to their feet on the other side of a massive gap in the causeway floor. The structure wouldn't hold from another explosion.

"Hanna!" Lydia screamed, but her cry was cut off as a zombie approached from behind and bit into her shoulder. Enraged, she hacked it down, and stopped to clap her free hand over the wound. That swing had burned like fire, and sure enough, the teeth had gone clean through her leather tunic. Her ears began to ring loudly, a result of the explosion.

"Get out of here!" Hanna screamed back. "Run!"

There were too many monsters surrounding her and blocking the way to the causeway for her to protest. Lydia fled, taking a side hallway out of the palace and fighting through any monsters she encountered. Her vision was beginning to swoop and blur, and blood trickled from her various wounds. But she didn't stop until she had escaped the palace and kept on running, following the very path she had chased the intruder down in the first place, the one between the keep walls and the solid mass of the cliff. There were few monsters left here, with no living prey left to interest them. Lydia ran through the portcullis gate and kept going, leaving the castle far behind her. She took a horse from the royal stables in the nearby town and rode onward, moving farther and farther from her home with no clear sense of where she would go next.

Her sister's screams haunted her all the way.

* * *

**Amanda the Huntress here. **

**Yep, I'm back. My school year is almost over here (Can I get a long-overdue AMEN?!) so I obviously have plenty of time to write again. This is certainly very, very nice. For me, and certainly for you. I've kept you waiting more than a month now. **

**An apology probably won't cut it, so I'll just promise more timely updates (again) and hope I keep to that promise (again). **

**Now- just a word to the wise: This is the _second _book in my trilogy, not the first. If you've read this far, remember that you need to read the first book as well, which would be Huntress's Tale. I'll be working on that one more often than this one, I'm afraid. Huntress's Tale has been neglected. **

**How did I do in this chapter? Remember to REVIEW, to let me know (Because frankly, how else could I know unless someone speaks up?), and if you liked what you saw and want more where this came from, FAVORITE or FOLLOW as well. **

**See you next update!**

**Huntress out.**


	21. Empty Graves and Falling Skies

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART THREE: THE ENDER WARS

_Chapter Twenty: Empty Graves and Falling Skies  
_

Officially, the Ender Wars began with the disappearance of Herobrine, years before. But the real war did not start until it had boiled to a head among the gods, and everything broke out into the open, just as Herobrine had predicted. The Void did not follow Aether rules of warfare- it struck physically and hard, not bothering with subterfuge. The one who had defeated the Void before was now defeated by his own people and a slave to the side of darkness. The Aether, in the eyes of the Thing, was ripe for the taking. With one of the creators gone and a traitor still among them, the remaining gods did not have much of a chance.

At first light, the Shadow struck.

It was a long-anticipated event, but even so, they were caught off guard by the clever traitor.

Laskig knew that Notch would turn his wrath his way soon, so he planned his exit carefully. It began with summoning the Shadow to the Aether, and then using its puppet to cover his tracks.

Herobrine, after all, as scarred and empty as he was now, could still enter the Aether.

Silence, the sudden silencing of the creatures of the Aether, was their first and only warning.

Laskig walked out of his dwelling, low into a thundercloud, masking his presence as he made his way to the lowest point in the Aether, taking from his breast-pocket a glassy round eye. Filling it with his newfound power, the eye floated out of his hand and shuddered, snapping into twelve copies. Energy coursed between them, and the air in the center of the hoop darkened, filling with the foul chill of the Void. Dim stars filled the empty black, and then shadows began to spill from it. Dense black floating shadows, the simplest form of the Thing itself.

As soon as it was fully into the Aether, Laskig closed the portal and was off, vanishing with a thought into a high tower near the throne room of Notch.

Then he waited.

With Herobrine's old power, he was able to sense the empty shell of the former god pass into the Aether. But no one else noticed until moments later, when a shrill scream pierced the too-silent air.

Terra, goddess of the earth and trees, saw Herobrine and his soulless eyes when she looked up from her careful work scrying through a bowl of water into an Overworld spring. Immediately, she screamed for help as the windows shattered inwards. Wrapping herself in her own power, most of the shards passed by harmlessly, but one caught its edge on her cheek, cutting a thin line. With a shaking hand, Terra reached up and touched the cut, the blood running backwards and the line sealing over seamlessly again. Herobrine strode into the room, glass crunching under his bare, scarred feet. A long black sword materialized in his hand.

The goddess knew that she had little time to escape and warn the others. Summoning her full power, roots crashed through the floor and wrapped around Herobrine, knocking him back and holding him fast. She ran for the door.

Herobrine didn't even blink. With a small gesture, he turned to insubstantial mist and escaped the trap, appearing before Terra on the other side of the door. With a gasp, she slammed it shut again and went for the window. A bird heard her desperate cry and came to help, spreading vast wings and letting the goddess onto its back, flapping away.

Herobrine followed.

Notch saw from his tower, and immediately went outside, summoning lightning to strike between the pursuer and the pursued. Terra escaped cleanly to the courtyard of his palace, but Herobrine was bowled over backwards and sent careening into a grove of bushes.

Notch was no fool. He knew what had become of Herobrine after the End was sealed beyond his reach. He knew what his presence here meant. He had felt the oncoming darkness.

Now it had come to strike.

"All gods of the Aether!" Notch boomed, sending his command out to every corner of the dimension. "Heed me! We are under attack. Rendezvous at my palace to drive the Void from our home."

A hiss behind him distracted him, and Notch turned to see a collection of shadows coalescing into a solid form, like that of a great snake. Summoning his sword to his hand, Notch struck at it, testing it with his magic.

The power that rebounded back at him nearly threw him off his feet.

When his sword touched the scales of the snake, a blast of dark energy exploded out at him, sending him flying back, and making the palace shudder and crack.

_Not good, _Notch thought. _This magic is too volitale. If it reacts like this every time..._

He glanced up at the ceiling, where more shadows were seeping through the cracks in the white quartz, widening the rifts. Sparks flew as they encountered enchantments, creating a flurry of smaller explosions. Quickly, Notch drew upon his more ancient powers, trapping the shadows into globes of his own power and destroying them in fire. But there were more coming every moment.

Terra, safe for the moment, scrambled out of the courtyard as rubble began to fall from the palace. One tower, however, was untouched, and she ran for it, taking the stairs two at a time to what she thought was safety.

Laskig waited instead.

Terra stopped when she saw him, her lips framing the beginning of a question: What are you doing here?

Laskig almost smiled with glee. Instead, he formed his face into a mask of horror, and pointed over Terra's shoulder. She turned.

Herobrine stood in the doorway.

_Here we go, _Laskig thought. Drawing from his sleeve a small dagger, he wrapped one arm around Terra's waist and put the blade to her throat with the other.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, realizing all too late what was going on. The whole Aether knew now that Herobrine wasn't the traitor, but now he was an empty shell of a puppet, a lost cause that would cost them. The real traitor stood behind her, holding her helpless.

Or perhaps not so helpless.

Terra felt for the vines growing around the tower for decoration and fed her power to them, sending them into a frenzy of expansion and growth. Leafy tendrils reached into the window, wrapping around Laskig and pulling him back. His dagger fell from his grasp as he was slammed into the wall, crying out shortly.

"Notch will make you pay, you scum," Terra hissed to Laskig, making the vines pull tighter. Laskig made a choking sound, struggling to speak.

Then he smiled.

Agony exploded in Terra's abdomen, and she looked down to see the shining black sword, glistening with her blood. Herobrine stood behind her, holding the hilt grimly and grinding the blade further into her back. Her hands wrapped around the blade against her will, trying to stop it from hurting her any worse as she coughed. Blood came up with a strangled heave. The sword pulled back, out of her, and she fell to her knees, then onto her side, helpless at Herobrine's feet.

With Terra mortally wounded, the vines around Laskig loosened. Quickly, he used his power to blast the walls and ceiling off the room. The entire Aether was gathered below now, and the explosion caught their attention.

Falling to his knees, he moved as though to protect Terra. Secretly, he used his power to command Herobrine: _Throw me off the tower. _

Herobrine struck quickly and precisely, grasping Laskig by a handful of his shirt and dragging him off Terra, as Laskig screamed her name all the while. He stabbed him, but Laskig used his power to make immaterial the center of his chest. Anyone looking on would not see the trick. Instead, many gasped in horror as they watched what they thought was Laskig's death.

Laskig fell limp, and Herobrine unceremoniously threw him off the tower. Laskig fell down and down, passing the edge of the island and falling farther, to the boundary of the Aether. There, he disappeared, vanishing into the portal he summoned at the last second and closing it after him. He landed hard on the stone of the End.

Safe, Laskig dusted himself off and laughed uproariously. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. All suspicion about him died with him.

* * *

Back in the Aether, the attack came together full force.

The gods were gathered, but were unprepared to see Herobrine alive again, and fighting against them. Many hesitated, and that was their undoing.

From behind, the Thing sent its darkness around and behind them, catching many off guard and knocking them to the ground.

"To me, Aether!" Notch bellowed, rousing the rest of the gods from their stupor. In a rush of brilliant energy, the gods put their power together without hesitation, following Notch's lead in fighting back the shadows. Herobrine was knocked flat, and a stray wisp of power floated down and sank into his skin.

Immediately, he broke out of a stupor of his own.

"Where am I?" Herobrine asked, his words slurred and weak through a dry throat and cracked lips. Pain burst through his head, silencing him.

"**_Wretch! Do not presume to question your position!_**"

That voice. That was the voice of pain. Darkness. Burning eyes.

Images rushed through Herobrine's head, and he groaned and rolled onto his side, trying to put together a coherent thought.

Pain again. The pain ravaged through his body, leaving him trembling and gasping, shredding his mind once more. His hand moved without him telling it to, picking up his sword once more, his cursed weapon, and he stood without feeling himself move, plodding forward to strike down the gods.

Power. Magic. He needed what they had, what had been stolen from him. Betrayers.

The words were not his own, but memories he recognized came with them, and he could not sort out truth from fiction. Eventually, Herobrine fell asleep once more, lulled into submission by the pain and growing madness. His body kept moving, guided by the will of the Thing. The gods fell back in fear from the blade, sensing its power, and its terrible purpose.

Notch was there in an instant.

For one moment, even he hesitated at the sight of his brother. This was what he had done. This was the result of his lack of faith. Every scar upon Herobrine's body, every hole in his clothing and bruise upon his skin, was his own fault. But he did not reminisce long.

He saw Herobrine's eyes, and knew there was no other choice. He would have no chance to save Herobrine, not now. The brother he knew was gone.

Though it broke his heart to do so, Notch raised one hand and used his earthshaking power to open the way between dimensions, pushing Herobrine through even as he snarled and resisted, pushing back with surprising force.

"You would throw me back into the fire, _brother?_" Herobrine spat, and Notch paused. He knew that wasn't really his brother speaking. Herobrine, somewhere in there, was beyond all senses and thought. Too deep to reach. He certainly wasn't capable of speaking on his own. Notch redoubled his efforts.

"You would betray me again! You who ignored my warnings and delivered me to my fall by your own hand!" Herobrine cried, but his voice was cut off abruptly as the dimensional barrier closed around him, locking him back in the End.

"My brother is dead, creature," Notch whispered to the space where Herobrine had stood. "You killed him yourself." Blinking away the tears streaming down his face, Notch turned to face the shadows.

The devastation was near-total already.

The surprise attack had taken its awful toll. Dead animals floated forlornly in the air between islands, suspended by threads of fraying magic. Most structures were in rubble. The shadows created death in their wake, shriveling plants and killing anything that breathed, and their trails were clear swathes through the greenery where the trees and grass had shriveled and blackened where the darkness touched it. The sky had darkened to purple, and was continuing to darken still. Shadows spread from the heart of Notch's palace like a fungus, tendrils reaching out from the central node and coating everything solid in pulsing black cobwebs. The gods barely maintained their position, chanting to keep the darkness away and keep themselves safe in a small bubble of power. Notch joined them quickly, adding his power to the spell, and immediately it swelled, pushing back the shadows as it went.

"Contain the vile thing!" Notch ordered, and the shimmering light spread into a hoop that encircled the palace, cutting off the Thing from the shadows it had spread out across the Aether. Opaque mists snapped apart and fell away, rolling down and falling like drops of oil. They exploded into flame as they hit the dimensional barrier at the bottom of the Aether. Brilliant forks of color streaked across the sky like lightning, yellows and reds. Smoke rose in clouds. A rumble ran through the dimension, and many of the islands shook with it, the power holding them shattering. Unsupported, they fell out of the sky like stones.

The Aether was cracking.

Notch dove into the cloud of darkness in the center of the ruins of his home, fighting back the cloying, acid substance with his sheer power. One tendril smacked him across the abdomen, and he grasped it with both hands, about to rend it in two, when something in the center of it stopped him. A sliver of light, green as a spring leaf and red as blood, pulsed inside, moving along towards the Thing at the heart of the shadow.

Notch swore, sending his power along the tentacle to its source: Terra. She was still alive, barely. The Thing was feeding on her. Shadows were latched onto her terrible wound like worms, siphoning off her life force with her blood and adding it to the Thing's.

With a roar of pure fury, Notch pulled the Thing away from Terra, stopping the flow of her lifeblood and sending the creature out of his palace and up into the sky where he could use his full power.

The other gods added their power to his, eager to drive it out and win the day.

Not one was looking below, to the Overworld where the Thing's shadows were burning through the feeble barrier that protected the human realm from the terrible fury of the war of the gods raging above.

* * *

Lydia limped to the door of the temple and pounded with both fists. The door opened, and a monk poked his head out, his expression going from confused to horrified when he saw the ranger standing there, covered in blood and ashes.

"My lady-" the monk began, motioning for the woman to come inside. Lydia strode in brusquely.

"Where is Jonas, the architect?" Lydia demanded, her voice hoarse.

"I do not understand," the monk said. "What has happened?"

"Answer me!" Lydia snapped. The monk bowed fearfully.

"He has retired for the day, in his private study."

"Take me to him," Lydia said.

"Of course," the monk said, bowing again. "But if I might ask, who are you?"

Lydia did not answer for a moment. Then she took a shuddering breath.

"Jonas is my father. My name is Lydia."

The monk gasped. "His... you're _that _Lydia! Then for heaven's sake, what has happened?"

Lydia's voice was grim, and it made the monk's blood run cold.

"Arrenvale has fallen. The royal family is dead, and their last order sent me here. I am the last survivor, here to warn you of what is to come."

* * *

Remund saw the woman ride in from where he stood in the fields, and his heart nearly stopped.

He stood with many of his classmates, putting up tents and clearing away ground for the festival. A garland of flowers fell from his nerveless fingers as he watched, and when someone called his name, he barely heard them.

It was her. It was the woman of his vision, galloping in on a half-dead horse and wearing a tattered green cloak.

Someone's shout startled him back to the present, and Remund fumbled to get back to his work, feeling the ice in his gut grow as the hours passed.

When the sun began to set, rain clouds had already blown overhead but held in their burden in their swollen folds. Only a thin line of the sky was visible around the horizon, showing the brilliant red of the sunset beyond the purple swells of the clouds. The wind began to blow, and a few apprentices shouted in frustration as their decorations ripped free. A penetrating chill came with the wind, biting hands and faces exposed to the air. The instructors, worried about the oncoming storm, began to hurry their classes back inside, and a sullen silence followed as everyone began to trudge back to the temple.

Remund, and Remund alone, noticed the tremor that shuddered through the ground below. He stopped dead in his tracks, watching the skies all of a sudden, and saw the wrongness there. It was something he couldn't quite describe... there were only clouds, and yet, above the temple, they seemed darker. More sinister. Something was wrong.

Then another tremor passed, and everyone stopped when a few rocks began to fall from the peak.

* * *

**Amanda the Huntress here. **

**I bet you guys thought I was dead. **

**Hi and hello again, my ever-loyal readers. It's been a very long time since I've worked on this story. What, like, a year? Year and a half? *checks data*... Not quite a year, but almost there. **

**You may have noticed some changes. First: I've started the transition from "writer" to "author", that is, I've been writing more serious projects such as a novel that I fully intend to publish _in print_ once I finish it and go to college. So, my writing style has evolved a little, and I'll want you guys to let me know if that's for the better or worse. Mind you, I'm out of practice for these first few chapters, and I'm still getting back into the groove I had before with this story. Don't judge too harshly until it is clear that I suck, or don't suck. **

**Second, well, I'll be going to college soon. I'm almost done with high school. **

**So, I thought I was finished with Fanfiction and ready to move on, but when I read back over this story, I decided it wasn't as bad as I thought it was, and it was worth finishing. I'd reached the halfway point, and I might as well complete the story. Besides, it might come in handy for my real novels. **

**So, here you go, my dear friends. The first update since May 20, 2015. **

**Thank you so much for reading, and I will see you in the next chapter! **


	22. When Worlds Collide

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART THREE: THE ENDER WARS

_Chapter Twenty-One: When Worlds Collide  
_

Lydia found she was not the only rider to come in with bad news.

As she walked through the main halls, she heard whispers from people of all walks of life, from ragged farmers to fellow warriors.

The world is breaking, the whispers said. Petrarch is gone, the royals slain mercilessly by a white-eyed demon. Osland has fallen, eaten by the monsters rising from the bog and spiders crawling from the depths. Ravenswing Keep has been breached, with no survivors. Just a burnt-out shell.

When she delivered her news to the priest at the door, a dozen heads shook dejectedly, resigned to their fate.

The whole world was collapsing around them.

Furious, Lydia turned on her heels and stalked down the side hall she was directed towards and pounded on the door. A thin, shaky voice answered her.

"Leave me alone. My plans are shot and I'm miserable."

"Jonas," Lydia called, biting back her rage. "It's me. Lydia. Let me in."

There was the sound of hurried shuffling and an astonished cry, and immediately the door flew open and Lydia's father, white-haired and hobbling on a cane, leaped out and stopped dead, staring at Lydia in awe.

"Lydia..." he breathed. "Lydia, my Lydia. It can't be."

Lydia took a deep breath, holding out her hand. "It's been a long time, Father."

Jonas took her offered hand in both of his, dropping his cane to the floor. "Too long," he agreed. "Far too long for a parent to live without seeing his daughter. I missed you so much." But then his smile drooped as he saw the stern look on Lydia's face. "Is there something wrong?"

Something twisted in Lydia's chest as she looked at his face. Closing her eyes against the tears, she wrapped her father in her embrace, clutching tightly and feeling years younger, more vulnerable. "I'm sorry, Father," she whispered. "Hanna..."

"No, my darling," Jonas said, pulling away and patting her hand. "Don't apologize. What happened? Is she all right?"

Lydia shook her head, and her vision blurred as Hanna's face appeared in her memory, twisted in fear as she watched the monsters tear into her castle. "No. She... she's gone."

"Gone?"

Jonas's voice was barely above a whisper. Slowly, he put a hand to his chest, and Lydia only just caught him in time as he pitched forward. The two collapsed against the wall as Jonas's breathing became more and more ragged, and his eyes misted over with tears.

"Gone... no, oh my Hanna. My Hanna..."

Jonas gripped Lydia's arms tightly, and she held him close as he rocked back and forth, his voice eventually drowned by tears.

The sound of their quiet weeping echoed hollowly against the wooden walls as a deep tremor rumbled the hall around them.

* * *

Remund saw it first as he stared up at the shriveling sky.

Of course- he had seen it before. He knew where to look to see his nightmare coming true.

The clouds began to sift from the sky, falling like sand dropping from a sieve. Where there should have been stars, there was only a thick, oily darkness that slowly oozed down from the peak of the sky, reaching smoky tendrils towards the mountaintops.

Then several bolts of lightning furiously attacked the Temple steeple, blasting it to rubble that rained down in red-hot chunks.

Now everyone was looking up.

The sky began to peel back- it was as if the last shreds of natural blue and gray were wrinkling and tearing apart like paper in water and rolling back to let this hideous darkness through.

Then came the fire.

At first, it was a few sparks, seemingly so innocent and innocuous, drifting from the fallen sky like fireflies as everyone watched awestruck at the ruin in the skies.

Then it came down in larger chunks, falling fast and hard, watery gobbets of fire hitting the ground with heavy _splats_ and sticking to whatever they touched, burning viciously. The apprentices began to scream as the liquid fire caught their robes and spread, sticking fast to their skin as they tried to escape the burning fabric.

More and more fire and darkness rained down, in larger and larger pieces, pattering like rain, and then like hail, and then crashing to the earth and leaving craters, spraying soil and ash up into the air.

Behind the darkness above, muddy lightning flashed, illuminating a massive network like a spider web spreading farther and farther across the sky. Here and there, something punched through the darkness, letting through brilliant white light that set aflame everything it touched.

The corruption of the Thing had nearly destroyed the barrier between the Overworld and Aether, and was now working to draw the two together, and let them consume one another.

The darkness grew larger and larger as it consumed more and more as it touched down on the Overworld. Trees shriveled and dissolved when tendrils of the black touched them. Stone turned brittle and began to collapse in on itself like soap foam, shrinking into nothing and bringing down buildings. A cliff buckled and fell, crushing everything underneath as its foundations were destroyed by the Thing.

Remund stood frozen, watching Armageddon unfold with eyes wide and mouth agape until someone snatched him by the scruff and dragged him into the Temple.

* * *

Lydia heard the cries from outside and rushed to a window, throwing open the shutters.

The glass shattered inwards with a sudden blast of wind, and she hurled herself out of the way with a cry, curling up to ward off the flying glass. When the dust settled, a blast of hot air blew the tears from her eyes as she stood and looked out.

The world was on fire.

The skies above were black, as if someone had draped a woolen blanket over the world, and the red from the blazes reflected dully back on it. Oily droplets of black dripped down from above, splatting into everything and eating away at it like acid, leaving the ground pitted and bubbling. People fled in all directions, trying desperately to make it to the safety of the Temple.

A blob of darkness blatted into the windowsill with a hiss, throwing up droplets. Several hit Lydia, and she screamed as they ate into her skin. Thrashing desperately, she tore off her cloak and clawed at her exposed hands, getting off the worst of it. Backing up from the window, she examined her arms. They were red and raw, burned deeply where the black stuff had touched them.

Swearing loudly, Lydia fled the room to help get the survivors to safety.

* * *

Notch wrestled with the Thing at its heart, fighting to draw back in its reaching tendrils.

A shout from above distracted him, and he looked up through the mess of clinging threads.

"Notch! The barrier!"

Looking down, he saw the spreading stains there, linked only by the barest of threads to the Thing. The fires that were destroying It were also burning through the barrier that separated the Aether from the Overworld.

If that barrier gave way, the Thing would be able to escape him there. Already he could see the flames dripping through the cracks. It had burned far enough to blot out the sun and force itself through a portion of the skies below.

They needed a new approach.

"Gods of the Aether."

Notch's voice pierced through every other sound. "Heed me now. We must extinguish the flames and contain the Thing and all its power in my palace. Begin at the barrier and work your way up."

The other gods took their positions, fighting hard to reach the rapidly weakening floor of the Aether below.

The shadows began to retreat, but the progress was slow, too slow. Even with all their power, the Void magic fought them hard, and it was forced back inch by painful inch. Notch feared they would not reach the barrier in time, let alone stop the Thing from breaking through.

With a curse, Notch released the heart of the Thing and rocketed downwards, ignoring the darkness that exploded above him to stop the darkness spreading like water below.

Joining his power, he slammed the flat of his hand into the barrier and reforged it, cutting off the power that made it through. What remained in the Aether retreated upwards, spreading rapidly even as the rest of the gods fought to contain it.

Without Herobrine, they would not win this battle. They needed the power of two creators to defeat the Void, and with only one, they could only hope to hold it at bay.

* * *

The silence told him he at last was alone and himself again.

Herobrine stood, and was launched fifteen feet off the stone by his own legs.

With a cry, he twisted midair and landed in a crouch, shocked speechless. His power! He was strong again!

And yet... he was still in the End. The obsidian towers rose around him, the ender crystals staring balefully down at him. The Endermen, however, cowered just out of sight. As he turned around, and then around again, turning circles, they teleported farther and farther away from him, as if they were afraid.

Afraid of him. He wasn't under their master's thrall.

Where was the Thing? What had happened?

Herobrine cried out as pain lanced through his skull, cracking his thoughts like brittle ice. Gritting his teeth, he tried to focus on what had happened. To remember something, _any_thing.

The Aether. Terra... no, Terra was dead. He watched his own hands kill her.

He swallowed a scream as the pain built up and exploded behind his forehead. He would not be defeated now! Clapping both his hands to the sides of his head, he fell to his knees, grinding his fingertips into his scalp. Terra was dead, Laskig gone, vanished somewhere. Nowhere he could see. Notch...

Notch sent him back here. Notch cut him off from the Thing, and for a space, he was free.

Free, and not helpless.

Herobrine realized with a start that he wouldn't have much time. The battle was likely still raging in the Aether, and from what he saw, not going well. Rubbing his hands together, he stood and began to summon up the strange power within him, so different than the delicate energy he once had as a creator.

He had a plan in mind, one that would bind the Thing back to him and draw It out of the Aether, but first he had to tame the raw magic It had put in him.

Slowly, a faint violet light formed between his palms, an orb hovering in the air.

* * *

Lydia knew the Temple wouldn't hold up when she saw globs of the shadows eating away the support pillars all around the building. With a shield strapped to her bad arm, she rushed out into the open, holding it over her head to ward off the wicked poison. The ground bucked under her as another rumble shook the world around her, throwing her off her feet. She landed face-first in a pile of black ashes.

Hacking and spluttering, Lydia clawed her way back to her feet and dashed grit out of her eyes. The ground was still undulating like ripples on the water, and she struggled to keep her footing.

Even a collapsed Temple was better than this, she decided. Praying in her heart for her father's safety, she grabbed a boy by the scruff of his tunic and hauled him in, tossing him into the safety of the open doors. Temple attendants took him from there, ushering him inside.

Smoke rose thickly from the ground- Lydia hadn't realized it was this bad until she was out in it. Diving through a particularly bad patch, she put her shirt up over her mouth and nose and shouted to anyone she could see.

"This way! Come this way, get inside!"

Other survivors, other warriors like her with shields and armor, were coming out now to help her. A tall man with a scarred face climbed up next to Lydia and repeated what she said in a drill sergeant's bark before diving into the ruin and emerging with a struggling Temple apprentice tucked under his arm.

Remund stared back at the woman as he kicked against the man holding him, trying to yell to him what was going to happen. He had to know, the Temple wasn't safe, but the man couldn't hear him over the roar of the flames and the quaking earth.

No one could see the first signs of an avalanche in the chaos, even as the dust began to crumble down the sheer slopes from the tallest peak looming above the Temple.

* * *

The portal was small, large enough for an Enderman to walk comfortably through and no larger. It was the smallest Herobrine could manage with the unruly power.

Taking a deep breath, he released the energy he held, and the way was torn open, and a hole appeared midair, Aether light pouring through. Sullied with the shadows of the Thing.

"Notch."

Notch heard his brother's voice and startled violently, looking up over his shoulder. The soulless white eyes of Herobrine stared back.

"What?" Notch gasped, wondering how the thrall of the Thing could have the power to open a portal like this when the Thing itself was occupied with the destruction of the Aether and Overworld.

"It's me," Herobrine said, reaching out a hand. "We don't have much time. It's already noticed me here. Are you listening?"

Notch nodded. It had to be Herobrine. He had to trust this desperate hope- they had nothing else. "I'm listening."

"Get the Thing to me. For as long as I still have my mind, I can hold it. It won't stop it, but it will buy you time."

"What then?"

"The way is open for it to be forced back to the End. You know what to do."

"What about you?" Notch protested, realizing all at once what was happening. His brother truly was alive, but if he followed through now with what Herobrine was suggesting... he would lose him all over again.

Herobrine leveled his gaze with Notch's and held it. "We don't have a choice and we are all out of time."

Notch closed his eyes, his grip on the Thing loosening for a split second. The worlds slowed, everything gliding to a stop as he pulled himself out of the flow of time with Herobrine. He couldn't stop time entirely- not without losing his hold on the Thing, but he had time to speak with his brother for a few final moments.

"This will not change my mind," Herobrine said severely as he stepped out of the portal, balancing unsteadily on the pockmarked floor of the Aether.

"I know," Notch replied, his voice dull.

"You shouldn't waste your power now. I've learned just how precious and limited it can be."

Notch shook his head. "We both learned, when I made the decision that damned you in the first place. I can't make that mistake again. There must be something else-"

"No."

Herobrine put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I've had all the time in the world to consider every possibility, and there isn't any other choice. The Thing is too entrenched here to be defeated without me pulling it from the other side. Even if there were a way to trap it and release me, I would never be free. It would be able to escape through me, and brother, I'm sick of the blood on my hands."

"It will destroy you," Notch said, tears in his voice. "It will have an eternity to take away everything you ever were."

"Would you allow that?" Herobrine asked, tilting his head. "I doubt it would stay in the End for long. We will defeat it today, but it will try again sometime tomorrow. When that happens, I won't be in the End. I am its favorite weapon now. You will have a chance to take it's weapon away."

"What are you saying?" Notch asked, a sense of dread creeping into his chest.

"I am asking you to kill me if you see me again." Herobrine replied.

Notch knew- he _knew _what his brother would tell him, but he stood, shocked and speechless, for several heartbeats.

"Why, Herobrine?" he asked, almost losing his hold on the time-stream.

Herobrine sighed. "When the Thing first took me, it tried for weeks to break me, find a way into my mind to control me from the inside out. When torment didn't work, it tried to explore my fears. It found one. I tasted death over and over until at last, it showed me what would happen if I lost my soul, and that was when I gave in. I am more afraid of what will happen if you leave me alive with it than of dying. I have seen what lies beyond, and it gives me hope. I am not afraid anymore of it."

His voice cracked as he finished speaking, and to Notch's astonishment, his eyes misted over, a tear spilling out and trailing down his face.

Notch's own vision blurred, and he closed his eyes against the burning sensation, catching his brother in a tight embrace.

"I will do it," he whispered. "Take the Thing back to the End. When it is defeated, I will do everything in my power to set you free."

* * *

All at once, the Overworld went eerily silent. The fire stopped falling, and while lightning still flashed, no thunder followed. People stopped screaming and looked skyward once more. Even the crackle of the flames seemed to dampen itself.

Above the Temple mountains, a point of starlight appeared, and then another, and another. In a spreading circle, an infinity of lights beneath a hazy purple Void appeared, sweeping away the chaos of the falling sky and replacing it with silence.

Above, in the Aether, the Thing was suddenly drawn into an End portal that yawned across the entire barrier to catch all of it. Notch and the rest of the gods combined their power to force it down, and Notch watched Herobrine's face through the battling lights and shadows.

Herobrine gathered up the Thing, saluted to his brother, and was gone.

The skies of the Overworld began to clear as the starry Void closed in on itself, starting at the horizon and vanishing the way it came, taking the darkness with it to leave an ordinary night sky lit by the full moon.

It was over. Whatever battle the gods had waged was won at last.

Lydia felt a wave of exhaustion hit her and wobbled on her legs. She pitched forward without realizing it, and fell to her knees, sitting down hard on her heels.

Everyone was safe. She closed her eyes against the fatigue throbbing dully in her skull, pulling her down as if her muscles had turned to lead. Everyone was safe.

But then a low rumble vibrated the ground. Lydia felt it first. More noticed as it grew stronger.

Dust began to fall from the edges of the cliffs and the top of the Temple, and then a rock tumbled down the mountain slope and ricocheted off the roof. Another one followed, shattering a window.

With a fantastic roar, the great mountains walling in the Temple, so weakened by the attacks of the shadows, collapsed on themselves. A roiling sea of stone and scree tumbled down and swept over the Temple, knocking over towers and crushing buildings beneath. The roar went on and on as the mountain stopped struggling and gave way, the highest peak at last toppling over to land with a mighty crash where the Temple once stood.

Lydia's ears were ringing so loudly that when the dust cleared, she couldn't even hear herself screaming.

* * *

**Amanda the Huntress here. **

**I'll give you a minute to let that last part sink in. **

**Deep breath in, deep breath out. **

**Feeling better?**

**Good. I have a little news. First: I have graduated high school. I'm on my way to college.**

**Second: I finished the first draft of the novel I was writing outside Fanfiction. I'm looking to publish that soon.**

**In the mean time, I'm not leaving FanFiction until all of my stories are completely exhausted and finished. Which won't be for a long time, perhaps never. You see, I always have time to rip off another author's world and re-imagine it. It's good practice for my own writing, and the best way to explore characters foreign to you. **

**And in the case of my Minecraft stories here... these are pure nostalgia. I'm never letting them go. I'm too madly in love with Huntress and Dragon, and most of all, Herobrine. And I love the game too much.**

**So, that should put the fears I saw in the reviews to rest. Published author or not, Fanfiction was my first home as a writer and here I stay. **

**Someday, perhaps, I'll read fanfiction of my own original work. THAT would make me unspeakably happy. **

**See you next chapter. Be sure to read the new chapter of Huntress's Tale out now and the new Legacy teaser. **

**Huntress out. **


	23. Aftermath

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK ONE: LYDIA

PART THREE: THE ENDER WARS

_Chapter Twenty-Two: Aftermath_

Lydia sat where she was, paralyzed.

There was a clock on her left, one that once stood on a post along the path leading into the Temple. She had passed it when she came.

Now it sat forlornly on the ground, its glass covering cracked and choked with dust. The hands still ticked stubbornly on, grinding against the dented works within.

Ten minutes. That's all the time that elapsed between her coming and the Temple's fall.

Ten gods-damned minutes, and the whole world collapsed.

She could still hear the rumbles of aftershocks in the ground and knew she should be up there, digging in the rubble, searching for survivors, but she knew she would not find many. Most likely none at all. All of the main supports had snapped at once, flattening the entire structure in on itself. There would be no space for someone to find shelter, nowhere to brace to get out of the way of the weight of the mountain.

She had sentenced everyone she pushed inside to death.

Lydia looked down at her hands. They had the long-fingered grace of her father's, but were covered in the same callouses from bow and sword that her mother had worn so proudly. They were rough, dusty, and hardened to battle and field work. They were hands trained to the thankless work of saving lives.

All her life, that was what she wanted to do. Be a protector of the people, of the peace, like her mother before her. She could still remember the riot that drove them out of Luminara for the first time when she was just eleven years old. That horror was what drove her to leave with Drayda to join the Rangers so young, so no one else would have to see that sort of destruction. Especially not her sister.

Now her sister was gone.

So was her father, her mother, and her brother in law and nephew.

Lydia looked up to the sky and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that welled up. She had witnessed all their deaths. She had been there when it happened for every one, and every time had been helpless to save them.

Now she was alone. Orphaned and bitterly alone at long last.

"Ranger Lydia."

The voice snapped her to attention. Lydia stood and turned to see the scar-faced man approaching her with a small crowd of people in tow.

"Yes?" Lydia replied, her voice shaky.

"I don't know if you remember me," the man began, "but we met in Luminara when the bans were put down. I saw you with the rest of the rangers holding up the riot barriers to protect the Kingshall district. My name is Lars." Lars extended his hand and Lydia shook it, nodding in greeting.

"Well met, Lars," Lydia said. "I don't know many people who still remember that riot."

"Nay," Lars replied. "Not many care to. I have found these lads among the ruins, and they will need shelter and medicine. Where should we go?"

Lydia looked around to see more and more people rising out of the dust and rubble, just as shell-shocked as she was. Dozens of pairs of haunted eyes stared back at her. Swallowing hard, Lydia forced herself to get back into habit and turned to Lars.

"Take them to the nearest settlement of Villager folk. Somewhere quiet and out of the way."

"Should we not take them somewhere with better defenses?" Lars asked, surprised.

Lydia started trembling all of a sudden and she let out a bitter laugh.

"No. You saw what happened to the best defended place in the Overworld. They will never be safe with us and our fortresses. The best they can do is hide now."

Lars frowned, taking a small step back. "With all due respect, my lady, I believe we should find a place that can protect them rather than bring in more innocent victims."

"Innocent victims!" Lydia snapped, nearing hysteria with every passing moment. She waved an arm at the sky. "Did you not see what was happening to us? We are in a war of the gods, who can make the very sky fall upon us. Do not think that any fortress of ours can keep their battles out, for they will sweep us over with a thought. We cannot protect these people, Lars of Luminara. We cannot even protect ourselves. Have you not heard what has happened far and wide? Entire kingdoms have been wiped out to the last man in single nights, and now the survivors have been crushed in the only sanctuary we had left in this world! Take these people to their own kind, back to the Villagers and their hamlets, and let them forget us. We are finished."

Tears were streaming down her face by the time she finished, and she stood in silence for several heartbeats, panting raggedly. Lars and the other survivors looked on, frozen.

"Go, man!" Lydia barked, galvanizing Lars into moving, towing along his train of monks and apprentices.

Lydia stayed where she was, wrapping her arms around herself as she watched people trickle out of the ruins, stumbling along in shock, unable to comprehend the desolation that surrounded them.

Remund looked over one shoulder as he followed the tall, scarred man away from the wreckage of his beloved Temple. The woman in the green cloak, no more than a few tatters now, stood, watching them go, tear tracks down her dusty face. She looked so strong in his visions, a thundering hero come to warn everyone of the impending doom and save everyone from the destruction.

Now she trembled on her feet, barely able to stand.

Remund realized with a start what this meant. Even her courage had reached its limit.

Lydia the Ranger was a broken woman under the weight of everything that had happened.

Turning back when Lars called his name, Remund followed him back to his home village to share the news.

When all the innocent survivors had left, Lydia finally sank to her knees and bent low to the ground, dry heaving uncontrollably. When her stomach finally stopped cramping, she rested her forehead on the ground, curling in on herself. She began to weep, sobbing silently into the ashen ground.

It had all happened so fast.

She was there.

She could not save them.

They were gone.

* * *

**Present Day  
**

_The man known as Corren indeed had the marks of a fine warrior, the priest decided. Even if they were both too old for the sort of travel they did.  
_

_"I am honored to meet you, Corren," the priest said, offering the white-haired man a seat. Corren bowed in greeting and gratefully accepted the chair, easing himself down slowly. _

_"As am I to meet you, your holiness," Corren replied. "I am glad to hear of your work. Not many are willing to dig up the ghosts of the Ender Wars." _

_"Ah," the priest said, shaking his finger, "but you and I are different. I believe in recording the truth before it was forgotten. And as I recall, you were instrumental in bringing an end to the wars."_

_Corren laughed and nodded reluctantly. "It was my duty. Herobrine took from me all the family I ever knew and destroyed my kingdom. No one would ever be safe unless he was destroyed."_

_"In that, I'm afraid you were right," the priest said somberly. "I still have yet to discover what exactly happened, but a creator of pure goodness was corrupted into the most vile monster the Overworld has known. What you did was extraordinary, and it saved us all." _

_"Please," Corren interjected. "I will tell the tale of my own deeds in due time, but first, you told me you found information on my family. I know almost everything there is to know about my parents, but you had information of what became of my aunt Lydia. The captain of the guard who survived what happened in Arrenvale. Did she live through the war?"_

_The priest shook his head. "No, she did not. But she did leave a diary." The priest leaned over and picked up the thick green leather-bound book from the stack of papers off to the side, setting it down on the desk and turning it so it faced Corren. "This is the entire story of the life of Lydia, daughter of Jonas and Alayne, written by her own hand. She personally knew Herobrine, as you know, before he went bad."_

_Corren slowly leaned forward and took the diary, folding back the cover and looking at the first few pages. "She was hardly a child when she started this," he breathed._

_"Indeed. And she witnessed more than just the descent of the Creator. She saw evidence of total war between the gods, starting when she was only eleven. This diary has given me a wealth of information for my Chronicles of History. I hope it will give you closure for what has become of your family. Now that I am finished with it, I believe it should go to you. You are, after all, her next of kin."_

_Corren looked up at the priest, a smile crinkling pleats at the corners of his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me this."_

* * *

When the sun fell low in the sky, Lydia found her horse rearing and rolling its eyes in fear in a copse of spruce trees, its reigns tangled in the branches.

At noon, she had found the body of her father at last, his hand sticking out of a pile of rock. Now he lay beneath a cairn on the plains before the Temple ruins, marked with a wooden sign: _Here lies Jonas, master architect and beloved father. _

With her diary packed away with her, Lydia calmed her horse and mounted up, riding back to the Temple. She looked upon the ruins one last time, feeling hollow and cold.

Her world was gone, and yet she remained.

Her mind was made up. She would go to Luminara, the last place she still had hope for. When she arrived at the Temple, Luminara was the only kingdom of the sons and daughters of Steve that had sent no last survivor or newsbringer. That meant either the city was still intact, or it had been truly wiped out, and no one was left alive to flee.

Either way, it was the last kingdom accounted for. The rest were written away in her diary. She had but one destination left.

Turning her back to the sinking sun, Lydia turned to Luminara and rode through the night.

* * *

The remainder of the tale of Lydia is by now common knowledge. Mankind made its last stand in the ruins of Luminara, and Lydia fell at the claws of the Thing's enthralled Endermen in her childhood home.

Herobrine descended upon the Golden City, and in a burst of anti-matter, destroyed at the behest of the Thing his own greatest creation: His city, and the last of his children.

When the sun set on the third day of Lydia's last ride, the last entry of her diary was written, and the story of Lydia the Ranger was over.

The time of humanity was finished.

One final hope now could only be found with a small child found among the ruins of Castle Arrenvale, the lone survivor of his entire race, born a prince to a fallen kingdom.

He would carry on his family's legacy.

**End of Book One.**

* * *

**Ladies and gentlemen, Huntress here.**

**The first half of Chronicle is finished at last. One more book to go, and the lost history of Minecraft as I have told it will be complete.**

**That's a frightening thought. **

**I will be focusing more on Huntress's Tale after this for a little while, since I need to actually outline Book II. **

**Apologies for the unusually short chapter, but that's how transitions usually turn out. **

**Thank you for reading, and I will see you next chapter to start a new book and an entirely new story within Chronicle, with more action, more feels, and more of our beloved Herobrine.**

**Huntress out. **


	24. Who is the Martyr?

**CHRONICLE**

BOOK TWO: CORREN

PART FOUR: REBIRTH

_Chapter Twenty-Three: _

_Prelude: Who is the Martyr? _

Notch paced the top room of the tower relentlessly. The shutters were closed against the starry night, and the only illumination in the room came from the softly glowing white walls themselves.

Not long ago, he and his brother had talked in this very room, with the observatory windows open to view the magnificence of the Aether. Now Herobrine was gone, and the windows were shut, because Notch could not bear even the sight of the stars lest he be reminded of the Void. What strange stars did his brother see in the Void, he wondered. Or if he could see any skies at all in his End prison as he endured torments worse than even the creator could imagine.

He should have listened.

It was painfully clear in hindsight. His brother had clearer sight and intuition than he did. His foolishness had damned his twin soul. Without Herobrine, the war would be desperate. The Overworld would be wiped out, and everything would have to begin anew. Yet without Herobrine, recovery would be impossible. Notch was the creator of foundations. Herobrine was the creator of life.

And now Herobrine was worse than dead.

Notch ground his palms into his eyes and growled. _Think! _he ordered himself. What would the enemy try next? It would use Herobrine to the best of its ability, but where would he go? What part would he play?

Then he remembered the delicious irony the Void so loved- unmaking things by the order they were made. It would only make sense that Herobrine, father of life, would be the instrument of death for all living creatures.

Notch stopped and sat down at the table, folding his hands before him. That was it. Wherever life existed, there Herobrine would be sent, starting with creatures capable of reasoning. Mankind was wiped out, so villagers would be attacked next. He needed...

He needed a champion.

Then he sensed something, something he had not felt for days since the battle for the Aether.

A human soul, terribly young, but strong enough to reach out to him.

Notch stood and commanded the windows to open. Starlight poured into the room, and the black shade of a new moon loomed over the tower. Closing his eyes, Notch looked out to the Overworld, chasing that tiny presence. What he found shocked him.

It was a prince, no older than four, praying to him from beneath the ruins of his castle. His parents were dead beside him, his mother only inches away, but unreachable in the rubble.

With just a word, Notch lifted away the worst of the weight around the boy, giving him room to breathe. He could see the strength in him, the spirit of his parents, and the cunning of his mother's family. He was the nephew of Herobrine's emissary- perhaps he could use that.

Vanishing from the Aether, Notch wrapped himself in the form of a bent old man. There was a Villager settlement not far from the castle, across the border. He would reach it by dawn, and the rescue party would find little Corren the next afternoon. A plan was already forming in his mind, one that would draw out Herobrine and the enemy after him. Perhaps his brother wasn't beyond salvation.

The risk of what he was doing was immeasurable, but any chance to save his fellow creator was worth it.

Besides- perhaps there was still a little strength to be found in the human race.

* * *

Herobrine was awake. His awareness had returned once again, slowly, inch by inch as he lay nearly catatonic on the stone. The Thing's attention was focused elsewhere again. He had another stolen moment to himself.

Slowly, he sat up, folding his legs before him. His wasted muscles screamed in protest as he stretched them for the first time in a week, but he stoically bore the pain. It was insignificant.

Taking a deep breath that rattled in his dry throat, he cleared his mind and closed his eyes.

The fractured memories returned, piece by piece. Luminara vanishing into nothing in a blinding explosion of light. The struggle with the Thing, with strength he never knew he had, grimly holding on even as his limbs began to tear joint from joint. Before, the conversation with Notch.

He had killed Terra, helped his betrayer escape, and said his goodbyes before he destroyed everything he had made.

Before, the despair had choked him. Now everything was clear. He was calm.

Now he had a purpose again.

Standing stiffly, Herobrine exhaled and settled into a basic fighting stance.

Envisioning the gods before him, he began to fight.

He did not think as he did so- instead, he let his body move by instinct. If a sword swept to cripple his leg, he would spin this way, sweeping his own sword on the way to make his attacker back up. Then he would feint and go in for the kill. If someone attacked from above, he would duck under the attacking arm, stabbing as he turned. A quick, clean kill.

Then he snapped open his eyes as he came to the point in his practice he needed.

The maneuver was simple. If he were knocked helpless, he would use his splayed limbs to knock his attacker off balance, bring them to the ground, and finish them, but instead, he altered the move slightly. Then he found another point in his impenetrable defense to weaken. Then another.

Over and over he practiced, changing his reflexes, repeating the motions until he collapsed trembling to the floor. Then, when he caught his breath, he did it all over again. And again. And again.

The Thing did not come, and his practice stretched on until he had built into muscle memory what he intended to do.

Next time he was in a fight for his life, he would be vulnerable. The Thing would not be able to do anything about it. It depended on his unconscious reflexes and instinctive memory to fight. But now, he had changed things. His skills would fail him at a most critical moment, whenever it would come.

He had planted his weapon against the Thing, and now all he had to do was wait for it to put him in the right situation.

He had imprinted into himself his own death. His next true battle, he knew, would be his last. He would be weakened, wounded, and Notch would find him. And Notch would end his suffering at last.

Satisfied, Herobrine settled down once more, closed his eyes, and waited to die.

* * *

_The Priest once uncovered a poem in his studies, an ancient work that was allegedly written by an oracle as a prophecy. _

_He wasn't fully able to puzzle out its meaning, but it felt significant to him. The poignant words struck him in such a way that he couldn't leave the verse be. _

_When he finished Chronicle I, he copied the poem into the back, calling it a sort of epitaph for the victims of the events recorded before it. _

_It read: _

_Brothers born of Primordial Light  
Each a hand that shaped the world  
But when they fought and time unfurled,  
Who was wrong? Who was right?_

_Brothers Divided, a world at war  
Battles that put out stars and sun  
Between them never a victory won  
And by the darkness both were torn_

_Brothers broken, but which suffered worse?  
Both broken, by suffering, by loss  
Both saved the world, but at what cost?  
Who is the Martyr? Who bears the curse? _

* * *

**Once upon a time, there was an author with a plan. **

**The plans died. The author was left alone. **

**Luckily, I'm a hardcore pantster when it comes to writing, and I've decided to truck along anyway. **

**Hello everyone, and welcome to the prologue to Book Two of Chronicle. As you can see, we're back to our normally scheduled programming of "Bad Things Are Going To Happen". **

**College turned out to be more of a ride than I thought it would (naturally) so, of course, I didn't write anything on this site for months on end. You may now hold your rotten vegetables at the ready to throw at me, because I'm about to tell you how I won't be publishing in a timely manner.**

**NaNoWriMo is coming. (*read that in the same voice you would say "Winter is coming"*) As of this chapter, NaNo 2016 is just two days away. I will be up to my ears in schoolwork and writing my second independent novel even as I am still revising the first. In the midst of all that, I'm leaving my only real live audience slighted and snubbed. D****éclass****é, I know. I'm sorry. I read your comments and I know how excited you are for the next installment. You can tar and feather me when I'm done. **

**BUT, now that I know what I am doing, I can at least assure you that Chronicle will be finished before I die. Certainly not before any more characters die, but we all know they must be sacrificed for the greater good. **

**With that cheerful thought in mind, I bid you all a tearful farewell, and I will see you in the next chapter. **

**If it doesn't come within a few weeks of the end of November, come looking for me. I may have gotten stuck on my way back up the rabbit hole. Bring a big stick. **


End file.
